


Don't Go In The Woods

by guccikings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, Sharing A Tent, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Survival, Thriller, camping trip, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccikings/pseuds/guccikings
Summary: "It was a fox," Harry states firmly."That," Louis points wildly to his tent — or what once used to be his tent — "was no fucking fox. Just look at it!""I am," Harry says, throwing his hands in the air in frustration, "but I’m not giving into the stupid idea that a monster did this. Monsters," he inhales deeply, fixing Louis with a pointed glare, "do not, and I repeat, do not fucking exist."or the one where Louis has the brilliant idea to go camping alone and unprepared. Luckily, he meets Harry, who is very much prepared and happy to help out. Unluckily, they aren’t as alone as they think they are.aka the spontaneous camping trip from hell.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 78





	Don't Go In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> helloooo everyone!! 
> 
> this is my first one-shot and I'm super excited to finally have something up that isn't over 200k. I had a ton of fun writing this fic!! If anyone is worried about the tags or summary, this fic isn't that scary, but it has some elements of (mild) horror in it, it's more of a thriller though and nobody is going to die. I promise a very happy ending. I don't want to spoil too much though so I kept the tags at a bare minimum. If you have any questions hit me up on [tumblr!!](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/), thank you so much for going over this fic not only once but TWICE, and using your superhuman editing skills to make it readable. we joked a long while back that you are the guarding angel of my fics, and it's so, so true. honestly, I can't thank you enough! your support and friendship means the world to me, ilysm xx 
> 
> that all said, happy reading everyone! enjoy x

*** * ***

_“From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?”_

_— Friedrich Nietzche —_

*** * ***

According to the dictionary, a fool is a person who acts unwisely or imprudently; a silly person.

Clearly, Louis is the definition of the word, seeing as he has found himself sitting in a dusty parking lot in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ without the slightest idea in mind of what to do next.

Perhaps he didn’t find himself here so much as actively drive here, but he doesn’t know what came over him three hours ago to make him do that. Louis isn’t even particularly fond of hikes (or any sport that isn’t football), but right ahead is an old, weatherworn sign that states in unwelcoming, black, rusted letters: _A Hiker’s Paradise_ — _The Goat’s Trail_ . Do goats even _live_ in forests? Louis is no goat expert, but he deems it rather unlikely. 

This should already be enough to make him put the car in reverse and drive somewhere safe, somewhere without dust and trees. He doesn’t though.

Instead, he brings his gaze away from the sign to scan the parking lot. A black Range Rover is parked at the far end, and a van stands at the other. Otherwise it’s just him and his beat-up car.

It might be beat-up, but the car is his pride and joy. He bought it with his own hard-earned money, juggling two part-time jobs while also attending university and babysitting his siblings whenever his mother was working a late night shift and their usual nanny wasn’t available. 

It’s just that his lovely mother’s house is full to the brim with the two sets of twins, plus Lottie, Fizzy, Dan, and (obviously) his mother. Louis doesn’t know what, why, or how, but Jay had agreed to babysit the kids from next door for a _full_ _week._ The house is already small as it is and so Louis couldn’t _stand_ it anymore. Although he loves his family to death, it all got to be too much and too crowded — so, long story short, he packed a duffle bag, rushed out of the house, hopped into his car, and that was it. 

His original plan was to book a cheap motel room, but somehow that didn’t happen. Instead he stopped at a store that he saw out of the corner of his eye while driving, bought a tent that he doesn’t know how to set up, and drove to a thick forest area that he has never been to. Louis can’t really recall the drive to get here; it’s as if he has suffered a massive black out. He acted on impulse and the details are hazy. 

However, he already can feel the stress tumbling off his shoulders. It’s been a hell of a week. He lost his job, then was kicked out of his shitty flat because he couldn’t afford rent (and when could he ever really? He guesses this month was the last straw and his roommates grew sick of his excuses), and if that wasn’t already enough, he had to sit through an endlessly long lecture from his mother about how he should grow the fuck up and get his shit together, all while the twins cried for attention and Lottie was having a screaming match on the phone with her now ex-boyfriend. It was too many sensations and problems for Louis to handle at once. He just wanted to get the fuck away; sue him. 

Louis sighs, tapping his fingers in an aimless rhythm against the steering wheel. The weather is perfect for a camping trip. It’s not too hot and will surely get cold at night, but the sun is still high up in the sky with no clouds in sight. The weatherman said that this should last for the next few days. Louis never has been camping, besides one short weekend when he was seven years old and his footie team went on a field trip out to a lake. They had the best time ever, eating marshmallows off sticks and singing songs off-key by the bonfire. Louis had thrown his best mate Stan into the lake, and even though they were scolded for that, it was worth it. Perhaps that blissful memory led him here. Louis isn’t sure. 

This time, Louis is all alone. Stan is living with his long term girlfriend in Leeds and Louis hasn’t talked to him in a few weeks. Louis hadn’t even told his mother where he was going (or that he was leaving at all for that matter). He just packed a duffle bag and while everyone was busy, he took off, hopping into the car with shaking hands and a tension headache. 

He is all alone, and suddenly camping sounds like the worst idea, but he is here and he can’t go back, and frankly he spent his last savings on the camping equipment, so perhaps his mum _is_ right and he should grow up and act more responsible and less like a tosser without a brain. 

At last, Louis gives up, getting his phone out of his duffle bag and sending his mum a quick text with his location attached, just in case something does go wrong. Louis has watched the _Wrong Turn_ movies one too many times to be _that_ reckless. 

Before Jay has time to reply and scream at him via WhatsApp, he stores the phone under his seat. He doesn’t want to be in contact with anyone for the time being. His mum now knows where he is and he told her that if he isn’t home by the weekend to please be so kind as to contact the police. He is sure that the moment he comes home, another lecture awaits him, and that thought alone settles his doubts about leaving his phone in the car and the trip itself. It gives him the much-needed push to get out, stretching his arms and kicking out his legs. His bones are stiff from the long car ride and when he stretches, his back gives a satisfying crack, relieving him of the tension in his spine.

Louis opens the boot and gets out a heavy bag that contains the tent (or more like the individual parts that will eventually be assembled into a tent). He isn’t quite sure how he’ll pull that off. He hopes that perhaps a good fairy from the woods will help him out. Or, at least, realistically speaking, the instruction pamphlet that hopefully came with it. Louis always has been shit when it comes to practical things. He is more of a _‘I’ll watch on, lads, doing a great job, though,’_ kind of guy. For example, when he moved into his old flat, he would have been lost without Liam’s wonderful skills to get on with IKEA furniture. 

"Fucking hell," Louis groans under the weight digging uncomfortably into his shoulders. Something is pressing into the knots of his spine, pushing his neck forward so that he can’t quite stand straight. "Why is this so fucking heavy?"

Louis jerks his head to the side to get his fringe out of his eyes and slaps the boot shut. He rounds the car to get his duffle bag out, swinging the strap over his shoulder and arranging it across over his chest. In short, he feels like a fucking _horse_. 

With a last look at his car and then another at the Range Rover, he sets off on his very own adventure. The dirt path leads away from society, from his car, from the stress of everyday life, and from the fear of being a fucking adult. 

_This is going to be fine,_ Louis thinks, breathing in the warm forest air. _Goat’s Trail, here I come._

*** * ***

_If the boy with the blue eyes wasn’t so fixated on the sign that marked a very old and abandoned hiker’s trail, he would have taken notice of another sign hidden between low hanging branches. That one stated, very clearly, very importantly:_ “don’t go in the woods”. 

*** * ***

It is, indeed, turning out just fine. 

Every step Louis takes leads him deeper into the shade of the forest and releases more and more of the tension that has been building up inside of him over the last few days. The more he breathes in clean air and the less he hears cars racing past his opened window at home, the more confidently he feels that he made the right decision by coming here instead of stopping at a motel. 

The sun twinkles through the trees’ crowns and Louis’ neck is saved from sunburn by the shade that grows darker as the forest becomes thicker. His shoes crunch over the bark and mulch in a nice sort of rhythm, like a melody that is meant for his ears only.

He is not a _complete_ idiot, of course, and along with the tent, he bought a map of the area. Currently, he is on his merry way to a promised lake. He loves lakes and water, swimming and diving, plus it will be an easy way to wash off the sweat clinging to his skin. 

Louis doesn’t really know how long he walks for. Time is a funny concept when you have nowhere to be and no way to actually tell the time. It feels like a lifetime, but also not really. It’s nice. A much-needed change. Louis’ life has been hectic so far and now it’s suddenly just not. It’s like being so absorbed in a good movie that you only notice after it’s finished how much time has passed. 

The only thing that is a teeny, tiny bit off-putting is that he comes across _nobody_ else. Not even _one_ person is walking their dog and no one chose today to hike or ride their bikes. It feels like he is the only person in the world. It’s just him, his body, mind, and soul. 

It’s eerie, that’s what it is. 

Louis checks over his shoulder, and checks left and right, but no — he is completely alone still. He kind of wishes that he had texted Zayn; he’d be up for a spontaneous camping trip, Louis is sure of it. But now it’s too late and his best mate is probably chilling at Liam’s place, getting stoned (and fucked, but that’s a detail Louis doesn’t really want to be focusing on, not now, not ever. Being at the wrong place at the wrong time once was enough, thank you very much).

Zayn and Louis have been friends ever since the first day of university. They met because both were late to the first proper lecture of the term and apparently that was enough to create a bond between them. They had roomed together in their second year and both got jobs at Starbucks for half a year before quitting at the same time because they couldn’t stand making one more hazelnut Macchiato and — 

Louis’ thoughts come to a stop and a little relieved breath falls from his lips as the trees thin out and through the branches he spots his first glimpse of shimmering water. 

"Yes…" he says to himself and quickens his steps. His feet hurt where they are bare in his Vans, blistered and swollen from the never-ending march over uneven ground and small hills up and down. He can’t _wait_ to take them off. 

The ground gives in, and Louis leans slightly backwards as he slides down the small hill and then he’s on sandy ground right in front of the lake. The lake is surrounded by trees, and an old dock goes out into the water. It’s so beautiful, his breath is knocked out of his lungs.

The dark water itself reflects the afternoon sun and glimmers as if someone has dumped a packet of sparkling glitter into it — or to be a bit more poetic, like a few stars have tumbled and drowned to the bottom of the lake, shining brightly underwater instead of in the night sky. 

It’s beautiful, silent, and so worth it. 

Louis sets his belongings on the ground and sighs high through his nostrils. He rolls his shoulders and reaches one hand up to massage his sore collarbone. The muscles of his back are tense from carrying the dead weight of his supplies for so long and his neck is stiff. The muscles in his legs sting and his shirt is sticking to him like a second skin. _But_ he’s made it, he’s here, and it’s great. Slowly, a grin stretches Louis’ lips until his teeth are showing and his heart calms to a steady rhythm in his chest. 

" _Ah…_ " he draws the sound out, putting his hands on his hips. A giggle pushes up his throat and he feels almost giddy being here at the lake. He can’t believe that he pulled through. He had been sure back at the car that he’d turn around and march back, crawl back to his mother and ask for a hug, but nope, no, _nuh-uh_ , Louis didn’t go back and if he can help it, he is going to stay as long as his heart desires. 

Said heart flips inside of him and pure tranquility settles where stress had caused sleepless nights before. It feels fan-fucking-tastic. Louis takes another deep breath to his tummy and finally kicks off his Vans, wiggling his toes in the sand.

Before he does anything else, he walks into the water. The gentle waves lick at his feet and he doesn’t stop until it reaches his calves. The coldness feels great on his aching feet and he can already feel the swelling of his ankles going down.

The water is lighter in color up close than it looked from afar and so transparent that he can see the bottom of the lake. Louis bends and cups his hands, gathering a bit of water and splashing it on his face, rubbing his cheeks harshly and repeating this a few times. It feels cleansing. 

Louis lets his eyes sweep over the lake one last time, then turns his back to it and wades back to the shore. Wet, dark sand sticks to the soles of his feet as he goes to grab his duffle bag, and a few pearls of water creep into the neckline of his shirt, causing a little ripple of a shiver to shake his body. 

Louis gets his pack of cigarettes out of the zipper pocket on the side of his bag and pulls out a pink lighter that he stole from a guy at the pub two weeks ago. Well, he didn’t actually _steal_ it — that sounds pretty harsh, innit? The guy had offered it to him when Louis couldn’t find his own (which he is pretty certain Zayn nicked from him), and Louis just forgot to give it back. 

He flops his arse down onto the sand and lights his cigarette, inhaling the smoke as his eyes squint at the lake against the strong rays of sun. The slowly setting sun paints a wonderful picture, the waves cast in full orange and the trees looking like an oil painting on the surface of the lake. Louis’ lungs fill with fumes, his toes are buried under a blanket of beige sand, and he feels better than he has all week, all month. 

After he is done smoking, the first issue arises. Or rather, it comes back to him now, after the initial wave of happiness is slowly but surely ebbing from his mind, leaving him to stare dumbfounded at the pamphlet. 

Louis has no idea how to build the tent, literally no clue. The sticks, stakes, and fabric that came with it make no sense to him as he holds it out like a map and _shit_. Just shit. The instructions could be in Chinese for all he knows because it’s surely not English. As the sun sinks behind the trees and a breeze licks on his skin, Louis feels lost and frustrated. Nothing from his former happiness remains as he sits in the dirt, cross-legged and close to tears because he is a bloody idiot. He doesn’t even have his phone with him to look up a video on YouTube. 

He lifts a stake and a string, eyes flicking from one to the other with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

"Fuck me, fucking shit," Louis groans after an hour of pure, teeth-grinding frustration, throwing everything a few metres away from him with a dark glare and a tight chest. " _Ugh_." He draws his knees to his chest and bangs his forehead against his kneecaps until his mind spins. He wants to kick something; he wants to kick himself; he wants to set the tent on fire, if he’s being quite honest. 

Why does everything always have to be so bloody complicated, huh? Why? 

A strangled groan chokes him and he falls back, star-fishing on the ground. He stares up at the sky which turns darker as time slips away from him. He guesses that he’ll be blessed with sunlight for three more hours, and after that it will be too dark to set anything up. 

He is just going to sleep underneath the open sky, yup, that’s what he is going to do. It’s going to be a proper nature experience, that’s what it’s going to be. He will return home as a changed man. It will make a great story, too. 

A branch cracks nearby and Louis startles, shooting upward. 

There are no _wolves_ in England, are there? Ridiculous that he only comes to think of wild animals now. Louis is pretty sure they do not have bears in Britain. Right? 

Another branch breaks and his heart jumps to his throat, but before he has a chance to run or hide, a dark figure appears at the entrance to the forest. Louis’ heart drops out of the bottom of his stomach and his breath hitches. Then the dark figure steps into the last sliver of light and Louis realises it’s not a demon with an appetite for his soul, but just a guy with a backpack on his back and a beanie over his head. 

Great. That doesn’t do much to ease his nerves. It might not be a demon, but perhaps this is worse. Louis is going to die. Leave it to him to get murdered in the woods. 

"Are you okay?" the guy asks as he steps closer. "Are you hurt?" 

Louis clears his throat and gets up from the ground, feeling his knees give in under his whirlwind of emotions. "No, no I’m not, uh…" He glances to the side. He could make a run for it, surely. He is quite fast. 

"Oh, okay," the guy says and a smile lightens his face, "are you alone?" 

Oh God, here it comes. His end. 

" _No_ ,” Louis answers a bit too quickly, a bit too forcefully. “My mates are…" Louis trails off, his brain too frightened to think of a quick lie on the spot. _Think, think, think,_ "Somewhere… getting… uh, they are… hunting. Right," Louis exhales, laughing breathlessly to himself, "they are big hunters, with guns," — pause — " _big_ guns," he adds for emphasis. He feels stupid, but it’s surely not be the first time today he has felt that.

The guy glances at what should have been Louis’ tent, at his lonely duffle bag, then his eyes are on Louis again and he nods, slowly. "Cool," he says easily, his voice quite deep. "I’m alone. I hope you don’t mind if I crash here, too? It’s getting late and I don’t want to walk around the lake and get lost on the way because it’s too dark." 

"Uh…" Louis draws the word out, blinking rapidly. His heart hasn’t calmed down just yet. His eyes take in the bloke, scanning to determine if he is a threat, if Louis could either overpower him or outrun him. He’s tall, it’s the first thing that makes Louis weak in the knees, at least half a head taller than himself. His beanie covers his hair and he looks kind of cozy and cute in an oversized hoodie. His feet are pigeon-toed and something about that settles Louis’ nerves because no guy with knees that knock into each other so awkwardly would ever be able to keep up with Louis’ legs. 

The guy lifts his eyebrows when Louis doesn’t say anything more and without waiting for an answer, he drops his backpack on the ground. "I’ll take that as a yes," he says with a slow smile and oh — the guy has _dimples_. No one with dimples could hurt anyone. That’s a written fact somewhere, isn’t it?

"No, yeah," Louis says, rubbing his neck awkwardly, "sure. Okay. Whatever." 

"Great," the guy says and with that doesn’t pay any further attention to Louis. He gets his own tent out of his bag and starts hammering the stakes into the ground as if he has done this a million times. "I’m Harry, by the way, Harry Styles," he says over his shoulder with another smile that should not be as reassuring as it is and Louis’ heart calms enough for him to sit back down. 

"Louis Tomlinson. Nice to meet you, Harold." 

"S’just Harry, actually." 

"Is it?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay, Harold," Louis grins sharply when Harry gives him a funny look over his shoulder. 

"Aren’t you going to get your tent up?"

A million jokes run through Louis’ head and he bites the tip of his tongue to stop them from falling off his lips.

"’S getting dark," Harry remarks with a look into the sky as if Louis wasn’t already painfully aware of that fact himself.

"Yeah, in… a bit," Louis shrugs listlessly. 

"Alright." With that, Harry works in silence, and right in front of Louis’ very eyes, his tent materialises in the span of an half an hour, if that. It’s quite impressive. 

"Do you do this often?" Louis asks when Harry stands up and brushes the dirt off his hands onto his jean shorts. Louis didn’t know jean shorts still were a thing, honestly. It suits him though. 

"Yeah, I love camping. Don’t you?" 

"Well, I don’t know, actually. It's my first camping trip since I was a kid," Louis admits, just barely stopping himself from pulling another awkward grimace. 

"Hm," Harry nods, expression unreadable. "And your big hunter friends, are they gonna join us anytime soon or do they have a tea party with the deer?" 

Louis can’t help but let out a surprised bark of laughter at that. 

"That was a lie, wasn’t it?" Harry eyes him, amusement tugging at his lips. 

"Depends," Louis says, bobbing his head side to side.

"On what?"

"If you’re a murderer or not." 

Harry cackles, green eyes lighting up. He slaps a hand over his mouth as if it’s the _funniest_ thing he has _ever_ heard. Perhaps that is a clear sign that he is, indeed, out here to find his next victim. "You’re funny," is all this Harry guy says with a shake of his head. Then he gets into his tent, taking his duffle bag with him and _hey_ — that wasn’t a _no_.

Louis narrows his eyes at the tent opening, watching Harry get out blankets and a pillow.

"I’m not a murderer," he says as if he can read Louis’ mind, his voice sounding weird from inside the tent. "Are you?" he pokes his head out. 

"Not yet," Louis deadpans, and Harry laughs again. The corners of Louis’ mouth lift; it’s a nice sound.

"Alright, alright," Harry says and for a moment there is a gap in conversation, but surprisingly enough it’s not as awkward as you’d expect. Harry starts humming under his breath as he gets his bed for the night ready, and Louis watches on. However, it also makes the knot in Louis’ stomach tighten because Harry set up his tent so easily, and it turned out perfectly fine. No trouble, and no swearing _whatsofuckingever_. 

After some time, Harry pokes his head out again, seemingly surprised that Louis is still sitting in the same spot. Harry’s gaze wanders to his belongings, scattered over the ground, untouched. "Are you going to set that up?" He jerks his chin towards it. "It’s almost nighttime." 

Louis pulls a grimace at that, can’t really help it. "I… am going to, eventually," he says, voice full of dread and, well, a whole lot of fucking regret. 

"Do you need help?" 

" _Please_ ," Louis whines, not even missing a beat. 

Harry cracks a lopsided smile. "Why didn’t you say anything?" He crawls out of his tent on hands and knees, then stretches to his full height as he comes to a stand, rolling his shoulders back. 

"Dunno," Louis murmurs, getting off the ground too. He puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes at the tent. "I’m not very good at… building things. I’m shite at it, actually." 

"And you thought it would be a good idea to go camping alone?" Harry deadpans with one arched eyebrow. 

"I’m stupid," Louis says with a sigh. "Honestly, mate, I didn’t know I was going camping until I bought the tent and drove out here." 

"Oh?" Harry crouches down and lays the fabric of the green tent out. "Why’s that?" 

"I was just released out of prison, you know how it is…" 

Harry loses his balance on the heels of his feet and clumsily falls forward onto his knees. He shoots a questioning look over his shoulder at Louis. "What?"

This time around, Louis cracks up, slapping a hand to his jiggling stomach. "I’m only joking, mate. But you should have seen your fucking face." Louis mimics Harry’s popped open lips and big eyes and loses it again, wheezing. 

Harry shakes his head. "You have got to stop with these jokes." 

"Oh no, never," Louis grins, walking up to Harry and looking down at the mess of stakes and strings. It still makes no fucking sense to him, but at least Harry knows what he is doing. Bless him. 

It takes another half an hour to set up Louis’ tent with Louis hovering unhelpfully over Harry like an annoying shadow, pointing out random things like, _‘shouldn’t that be bound tighter?’_ and ' _I hope it won’t fly away at night'_ just so the silence is filled with something other than the chirping of birds up in the trees and the flies that buzz around them.

Harry is a pretty silent worker. He just gets it done, doesn’t even ask Louis to hold something or hand him anything like Liam would. Once when Louis tries to reach out to at least pretend to help as any decent, clueless person would, Harry bats his hand away as if it’s one of the flies.

But then it’s done, standing proudly next to Harry’s blue tent. The opening looks like it’s mocking Louis. It looked easy when Harry did it, the bloke not even having to look at the Chinese instructions. He is what Louis calls a show-off. 

"Thank you," Louis says as Harry flops on the ground with the back of his head bedded on his bicep. He looks exhausted, cheeks red. 

"S’nothing, really," Harry waves it away, pulling his beanie off his head and ruffling a hand through his damp hair and oh, the boy has curls. 

"Very modest," Louis grins, "but really, thanks a lot, mate. I can repay you in gummy bears. I’ve got too much junk food anyway." 

"I do love gummy bears." Harry smiles at him. "Thanks," he sighs, closing his eyes and Louis takes that as cue to get his makeshift bed ready. 

The tent looks smaller from the outside than it is from the inside. It’s not _big_ by any means, but surprisingly enough three people could fit inside without much trouble. He gets the new sleeping bag out of its packet and puts the torch he bought next to the camping pillow he couldn’t resist buying. There isn’t much more to do after that. It’s done and Louis has been saved from sleeping with the bugs and insects. 

When he peeks out through the opening, Harry is still taking a nap on the ground, now having kicked off his shoes and socks, his beanie covering his face. 

Louis can’t lie, he is kind of glad not to be completely alone in the woods. As the sun sets, casting the surrounding environment in total darkness and the empty sky stretches above, that feeling only increases. 

*** * ***

"You’re from around Manchester, aren’t you? I’m quite shit with accents," Harry says much later, his face illuminated by the bonfire. The orange glow of the flame flickers over one of his cheeks, while the other half is shadowed and unreadable to Louis. 

It took what felt like ages to get the wood to burn, but now the flames happily lick their way up to the sky and the embers warm their fronts. It’s quite chilly, actually — so much so that Louis had to put on his hoodie _and_ jacket. 

He stretches his hands towards the flames, warming his palms. "Yeah. I’m from Doncaster, up north." 

"Ah," Harry draws the word out in recognition, "nice, I’m not too far from there actually. I’m from Holmes Chapel."

Louis snorts, glancing at Harry before directing his eyes back to the fire. It’s quite hypnotising and makes Louis just a teeny tiny bit sleepy. "And _somehow_ we both ended up here, hours away from home." 

"Yeah, right," Harry agrees, rubbing a sleepy knuckle over his eyes and yawning. "I needed to get away for a while." 

Curiosity sparked, Louis lifts his eyebrows. "How come?" 

"Uh," Harry smiles sheepishly at him, "I might sound like a proper twat, but my roommate is really big into Christian rock music and honestly I couldn’t fucking stand it anymore." 

"Your roommate is _what_?" Louis laughs so suddenly his eyes nearly shut and he can feel the skin around them wrinkle. “I didn’t know that was a thing.” 

Harry joins in but his laughter is lower than Louis’, much deeper, too. "Yeah, can you believe it? I’m big into music and a very tolerable guy, but I only can listen to so much Christian rock." He shrugs a single shoulder. "It was kind of always a bit of a fight factor with us. Last time she kicked me out and made me sit in the hallway for two hours because she wanted to… be alone or whatever." 

"No," Louis gasps, clutching his cheeks dramatically. "You poor soul." 

"Again, nothing against Christian rock music," Harry says, rolling a stick between his palms before sticking a marshmallow through it. 

It was of course Harry’s idea to roast marshmallows since he had packed some for the occasion, and only made Louis happier to have stumbled upon the man in the middle of nowhere. 

"So, what? You chose to just to fuck off into the woods because you couldn’t stand the music anymore?" 

"Naturally," Harry grins, but then his face falls a bit. "I mean, it’s not only that. Life got a bit too loud all around, yeah? I had a million job interviews just last week and the week before that, and — well, you know. Just needed to get away from it all. It’s fucking draining." 

Louis makes a sympathetic noise at that. It sounds like they both have had the worst month of their lives. "I really, really hate adult life so far." 

"It’s no fun, is it? Everyone promised it would be fun," Harry pauses, staring daggers at the fire as if it has wronged him personally, "but they lied. I’m seriously considering moving back to my mum’s and hiding under the blankets there forever." 

"I’m sorry," Louis says, scratching at his jawline, then at his neck. "I get that, though. I was fired this week from my first proper adult job..."

That’s not quite true, but it still stings, even though it was only a job at the local pub around the corner. Or, Louis muses deeply, perhaps that is _why_ it stings that much, because it was just a job at the local pub around the corner, and he should have managed to keep it fine.

Louis winces, pulling a face as if he’d bitten into a lemon. "Fuck, I just remembered I have to apply for jobs now too." 

"Sucks, mate." Harry purses his lips in sympathy. 

"Can I hide at your mum’s place under your blankets too?" Louis juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, making his eyes as big and innocent as possible. 

Harry giggles, and Louis drops the act to crack a smile, relieved as the sudden heavy mood lifts a tad. "Sure, sure, it’ll be a tight fit though. I only have a twin sized bed." 

"We’ll make it work," Louis says lightly. 

Harry takes the stick out of the fire and frowns cutely with a nose scrunch at the burned marshmallow. "I’m shit at this," he says, poking the burned part and promptly withdrawing his finger with a hiss before sticking it into his mouth. 

Louis’ laugh rings from low in his chest. "I could have told you that." 

"Piss off." 

Louis takes his own stick out of the fire. He wasn’t in the mood to hold it, so he dug it into the earth, a bit lower than Harry’s, and it comes out perfectly fine. Harry makes a strangled noise in betrayal and Louis smirks smugly.

"See, I’m not completely useless tonight," he says, blowing softly on it before getting up and plopping down right next to Harry. "Here, as thanks for building my humble house." 

"Your house," Harry states, monotonous. 

"I don’t wanna say tent," Louis whines. 

"Ever had sex while camping?" Harry asks out of nowhere, startling Louis so much that his mouth pops open. "It’s fucking _in-tense_ ," Harry cackles, cupping his mouth as his eyes dance at Louis. 

It takes a moment to register in Louis’ mind that it was a joke, that Harry just made a camping joke. About sex. "Oh my God," he groans, chuckling. "Oh no, I’m stranded with a comedian in the middle of fucking nowhere, S-O-S." 

Harry boxes his shoulder, with an offended, drawled, _“Hey, I’m funny_.”

"Don’t believe it," Louis shakes his head at him. "Eat your marshmallow." 

"Thanks," Harry pinches some and sucks his finger into his mouth. Louis isn’t sure if he is doing it on purpose, but the way his cheeks hollow out as he cleans his finger makes Louis’ cock pulse. He has to look away abruptly as Harry fucking _moans_ , as in, a real moan which also goes straight to Louis’ dick. Who, just _who_ does that? 

"S’good," Harry says, as if Louis couldn’t tell based on his over-the-top reaction to the taste. 

"I’m, uh, glad," Louis says. 

"Want some?" 

"You touched it with your filthy fingers, so no, thank you." 

"Aw, c’mon, I didn’t touch the other side. Try some, we can share." Harry elbows his arm. 

"Fine," Louis blinks at the marshmallow and mimics Harry, pinching a piece of the soft, sticky, white mass and bringing it to his mouth. He puts it in, and only then realises that a string of white is sticking to his lips like warm mozzarella cheese. However, Louis has absolutely no time to be even a tad embarrassed because Harry apparently has no idea what personal space means, or boundaries, for that matter. Before Louis can do anything about it, Harry’s thumb is on his lips, scooping off the marshmallow string and putting it in his own mouth as if it’s nothing. Nobody can blame Louis when he stares at Harry with wide eyes, the touch still tingling on his bottom lip. 

"Sorry," Harry says as he realises what he has done. "I didn’t mean to— that was, uh, I—" 

"No worries," Louis cuts him off, feeling his neck flush _just_ a tad, "s’fine. I guess you have no problem with sticky things and spit." What the fuck is he saying? Someone stop him. He winces inwardly. 

Harry blushes and Louis is right there with him, his cheeks red and not just from the fire. The warm feeling in his stomach isn’t from the fire either, cozy and fluttering. 

"Anyway," Harry clears his airway, glancing away. 

They finish their marshmallows and put on another. Harry, bless his soul, has not only marshmallows, but proper food packed, too. As he goes to get it out of the tupperware, Louis is hit with an unpleasant realisation. 

"Harry," he says, nearly toneless, that’s how fucking _shocked_ he is. "Harry. Holy fucking bitch of a mother from hell." 

"That’s a new curse word," Harry interjects with an easy grin and dimples. 

"I have no food packed besides the junk I got at the store. I didn’t even _think_ for a second to get food. I would have starved out here," Louis blinks his eyes at Harry dramatically as he plops down next to him again.

Harry crosses his legs, his knee digging into Louis’ own. "You came really unprepared, didn’t you?" 

Louis covers his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose before waving his hand around. "Yeah, totally. I don’t even know where my head was at. I wanted to sleep at a motel but that didn’t seem appealing to me somehow so…" 

"You went camping without knowing how to set up a tent and no food," Harry pauses, eyeing him curiously with amusement glimmering in his eyes. "Did you at least think of water?" 

Louis pauses. "I got three tins of beer." 

Harry throws his head back and howls a fucking adorable, loud laugh. It’s more of a honk, though, and Louis doesn’t know if he should give into the embarrassment that heats his cheeks or be endeared to death. He chooses the latter just so he can breathe a bit easier. 

"I have enough, though. Don’t worry," Harry says once he is calm again, patting him on the back. "S’not like you can’t go to the nearest store, though. Do you have a car? I can give you a ride if you need. No worries, man."

"Who even are you?" Louis asks, shocked and touched that a stranger (let’s be honest, they have only known each other for a handful of hours. No matter how easy it is to talk to and be around Harry, they don’t know each other past their names, why they are here, and where they are from) would be so kind to him. From the second they met, Harry has helped him out big time. Louis is going to make sure to repay Harry somehow and not only in gummy bears. 

"Harry, duh." 

"Fuck off, you’re not. You’re an angel, that’s what you are." 

"My mum raised me well," Harry nods matter-of-factly. 

"She really did," Louis whispers, smiling lopsidedly at the man beside him. "I have a car though, don’t worry," he boomerangs back to the original topic. "Are you the Range Rover or the van?" 

"Range Rover." 

"Fits you," Louis says, patting his jacket pockets. "Do you smoke?" 

"Weed?" Harry asks with highly interested eyes. 

"Sure, that too." 

"Did you bring any?" Harry lights up like the stars in the black sky. 

"No, I was at my mum’s house before. Y’know, can’t really hide anything there with a ton of nosy kids around."

The last time Louis had weed there, Lottie stole his stash and he’s not going to let that happen again. She can get her own fucking weed. It’s not like she’d ever share hers with him, so. 

"Fair enough," Harry pouts.

Louis gets his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He holds it out to Harry in a silent offering, but he declines with a shake of his head. Louis shrugs as if to say, 'suit yourself, man' and gets one out himself. He traps it between his lips, patting his pockets for the lighter that has since disappeared out of the pack and makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat when he can’t find it. His eyes wander slowly to the fire, a reckless idea bubbling up. But before he can even do anything that he would regret later, Harry holds him back with a hand to his shoulder. 

"Don’t, Louis," he warns. "I’m not _that_ hungry." 

Louis laughs, cig tumbling from his lips into his lap. "Fuck off, that’s _disgusting_." 

"Here," Harry gets a lighter out of his own jacket. 

"Hey that’s mine," Louis pouts at the pink lighter. 

"I found it by the shore, sorry." 

"S’alright. I stole it too." 

"Well, that lighter really gets around, huh?" 

At last, Louis gets his cigarette going and inhales the smoke to his lungs. The nicotine relaxes his shoulders instantly. In front of the fire and with the warmth radiating off in waves from Harry’s body beside him, Louis can feel the exhaustion of the day crashing over him in little ripples. He rubs the corner of his eye with the side of his hand and yawns, stifling it with a duck of his head to his chest. 

"Yeah, me too. We should get an early night in," Harry says, yawning as well. 

"Hm," Louis agrees, taking a second, slow drag. 

Harry wiggles his fingers in the air. Louis looks at him with raised brows, and Harry nods his chin in direction of the cigarette.

Louis hands it to him wordlessly, watching as Harry wraps his lips around the butt and sucks, cheeks hollowing. Louis can basically see the smoke travel down his lungs as Harry’s Adam's apple bobs and his chest pushes out with his inhale. He is wearing his beanie again, and the tip of his nose is red. Harry looks cute, in short, and now extremely hot while smoking. Louis knows that his habit is unhealthy, trust him, his mother has told him that many times since he started, but he can’t help but find men smoking attractive. Something about it just — _gosh_ , it does _things_ to him, okay?

Harry gives him back the cigarette, and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "I usually don’t really like smoking." 

"Why did you then?" 

"What happens in the woods, stays in the woods." 

Louis snorts, finishing the cigarette and throwing the butt into the flames with a crackle.

"Oh, I totally forgot," Harry says, blinking down. "Here, have a sammy," Harry says, opening the tupperware. "It’s ham and tomato, I hope you’re not allergic or anything." 

"Thanks." Louis takes half of the neatly cut sandwich, smiling at him. "That’s really generous, mate." 

They eat their sandwiches in silence. It's as good as any sandwich could be and Louis is done with his in the span of three large bites. He hasn’t eaten anything besides marshmallows since breakfast and the long walk wore him out to the core. He covers his mouth as another yawn crashes over him and shakes his shoulders. 

"Let’s call it a night," Harry says, licking the corner of his mouth to get bread crumbs off his lips. 

"Yeah," Louis agrees softly, watching Harry with tired eyes as he packs up their rubbish and puts it in a small plastic bag. 

"Good night, Lou." Harry gives him a little wave, then retreats into his tent. 

"Good night…" Louis murmurs belatedly, sighing and looking one last time into the remains of the fire, now just a small glow. It will go out within the next hour and Louis guesses there’s nothing to worry about. How funny would it be, though, if they managed to burn down the forest? Louis goes camping _one time_ and _bam_ — wildfire. Louis’ eyes narrow at the embers. “Don’t,” he warns them, as if that’ll do anything. 

In his own tent, for the first time since he got out of the car, he misses his phone. He wonders if his mother is worried about him and has the decency to feel guilty about leaving without saying anything to her or his sisters or brother (although, to be fair, his brother and his twin are too young to understand much). His stomach twists at the thought and he brings his thumb to his mouth, nibbling at the dead skin around his nail. 

He wishes he could at least listen to music. Lying in his sleeping bag, it feels like the forest around him has come to life. He flinches as a branch creaks and a gust of wind howls around his tent. 

Everything is scarier in the dark. But Louis isn’t a baby; he can totally handle this. 

At least in Harry’s presence he was able to brush off the noises as being caused by small, harmless animals or the fire. But in the darkness of his tent, even the slightest sound sends his heart to his throat. It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. However, as another branch cracks, Louis winces lowly and grinds his teeth on the flesh of the inside of his cheek. Frowning at nothing, he perks his ears to listen more closely. 

Perhaps Harry went for a wee. That's a pretty decent explanation. 

Louis rolls onto his back and stares at his tent with a blank expression. 

It’s nothing, surely. Just a fox, if anything. 

Then again, he is pretty sure the people in the movie _The Blair Witch Project_ thought the same. 

_Let’s_ not _think about scary movies right now_ , Louis scolds himself, closing his eyes stubbornly. 

He wills himself to go completely still. He even does a little breathing exercise: inhale deeply through his nostrils, keep the air in his lungs for the count of eight, then release the air through his mouth and breathe out until the count of ten. He repeats this until his muscles go lax and feels sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. 

_Finally_. 

Heaving himself onto his side again, Louis brings his legs to his chest as much as he can in the limited space and yawns, slowly drifting off. 

_Crack_. 

Louis’ eyes fly open, and he lays very still. 

_Crack_. 

He releases a shallow breath. 

It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s noth— 

_Crack_. 

" _Fuck_ it," Louis mutters to himself, sitting upright. He stares hard at where the opening of his tent is zipped closed, trying to identify a shadow or _whatever_ , but nothing moves outside. Perhaps he just can’t see it. Either way, Louis has to admit that he is scared as fuck. After all, they are alone in the forest, somewhere without light or electricity, and that alone sends a chill down his spine. If he only had taken his bloody phone with him... "Gosh," he mutters again and makes the decision without actually making the decision. 

He unzips the opening, ignoring the slight shake of his hands as he stumbles outside. The air is cold and a breeze swirls around his body. He looks left and right, but he doesn’t see anything or anyone. That doesn’t ease the knot in his stomach, though. He goes over to Harry’s tent, seeing a little spot of light drawing a circle on the fabric. 

"Harry?" he whispers. He clears his throat. "Harry, you awake?" He drums his finger knuckles against the fabric. 

"Yeah," Harry’s voice comes, thin and muffled, "a second." 

Louis drops to his knees, winding his arms around his middle. There is another eerie sound from deep in the forest and Louis’ breath hitches. He checks over his shoulder but can’t see more than trees and blackness. It’s nothing, absolutely nothing. God, he is pathetic. 

"Harry," Louis says again with more urgency in his voice as his eyes track a slight movement between the tree trunks, and his heart does a double flip in his chest. He squints to see better but his attention is ripped from the uncertain movement at the sound of the zipper. Louis instantly relaxes when Harry peeks out at him with curious eyes. 

"What’s up?" Harry whispers, although they are alone. 

"I…" Louis bites his bottom lip. "I’m… I can’t sleep. What are you doing?" 

"I’m reading," Harry rubs a hand over his eyes, lifting a book as if to demonstrate his point or something. 

"Can I," Louis hesitates, but then another crack of the forest settles it pretty easily for him, "would you mind… uh, sharing your tent with me?" 

"What’s wrong with yours?" Harry asks with arched brows.

"Nothing, nothing, I just… I’m a bit… uh,” Louis fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, feeling younger than he has in ages, fucking hell. “Scared?" he finishes, the nervous tilt of his voice wrapping the statement up as a question. 

Harry’s shoulders sag and for the first time since they met, Louis feels resistance from him. Harry has already been so bloody kind to him, given him so much. Louis feels like a knob. He is asking too much, he knows that now. Of course he would only realise that he has overstepped once he’s already asked. He must seem like a bloody child right now, which is not very attractive at all. 

Harry eyes him for a long moment in which Louis doesn’t dare to breathe or move. After a long awkward silence, Harry’s facial features soften visibly and he unzips the opening fully.

"Of course, c’mon in," Harry says with a small sigh. 

Relief washes over Louis, making his mind a little bit dizzy. Yeah, he was that fucking scared. So fucking embarrssing. Louis is going to make sure nobody ( _uh_ , besides Harry) ever finds out about this. He already can picture Zayn’s face clearly in the forefront of his mind and hear his relentless teasing tingling in his ears. Louis would never live that down, that he knows. 

"Great. Okay. Great. Yeah. Okay. Thank you,” Louis rambles, stumbling over his words. “You are absolutely the _best_ person on this fucking earth, H." 

Harry chuckles. "No worries. Get your sleeping bag, I’ll make room." 

Louis doesn’t waste any more time and with a quick sweeping glance over the forest, he grabs his stuff from his tent and hands it to Harry before crawling in. 

It’s a tight fit. Louis was being a bit too generous when he said that three people could fit inside the tent. Perhaps three small children could, but for two grown men — and Harry is quite tall as well — it’s a bit too close for comfort. After all, they barely know each other. But Louis can’t find it within himself to regret it one bit. He already feels so much safer with Harry’s calm presence next to him. 

"I snore," Harry warns, crossing his legs to make more space for Louis to get properly settled in. 

Louis folds his legs into his sleeping bag, rolling around until he is facing Harry. He pillows his cheek on his palm and peers up at Harry as he shuts out the scary outside world and crawls into his sleeping bag too. 

"That’s quite alright," Louis says. It’s not even a lie, is it? He would take snoring over scary forest noises any night. "It’ll put me at ease, I’m sure." 

Harry smiles at him, green eyes softened by sleepiness. 

"What were you reading?"

"Charles Bukowski." 

"Why would you?" Louis wrinkles his nose. 

Harry gives a one shoulder shrug. "I like it. He’s honest." 

"That’s one way to put it," Louis muses. 

"Do you like to read?" 

"I do not." Louis can’t remember when he read a book that wasn’t assigned to him for school. He was always more into playing video games or watching movies. If there weren’t responsibilities to fulfill, he swears he would never leave his couch and happily just waste his life away glued to the screen. If he is ever in desperate need of change, there is always football or skateboarding, but books? Definitely not his thing. His attention span is poor and gave him trouble in school and university big fucking time. He always starts daydreaming when he is actually meant to read and take notes. 

"Then," Harry pauses, grinning, "you have no room to talk." He winks and Louis guesses that’s fair enough. 

"You can read on, I don’t mind," Louis whispers. Now that he’s with Harry and not alone in the dark, he feels safe and comfortable enough to get some sleep. 

"Alright," Harry breathes, opening the book where he left off. "I won’t stay up for too long, don’t worry." 

"S’alright. G’night Haz." 

"Sweet dreams, Lou." 

Louis’ eyes droop shut and the last thing he remembers thinking about is the man next to him with a kind smile and an even bigger heart.

*** * ***

The night goes by without any more weird noises that would cause his nape to tingle with nerves. Harry does indeed snore, but that is quite alright. It brings Louis back to the time when he crashed at Zayn’s flat and Liam’s snores travelled through the door. To this day, Louis still wonders how Zayn can sleep next to him and get any rest. ( _Weed_ , the answer is weed, eleven out of ten times). 

The day trickles in with soft rays of sunshine beaming through the fabric of the tent. Louis’ body begins to feel sweaty, trapped in too many layers of thick material. It’s okay, though. The fact that he is suffocating in his sleeping bag is a clear sign that he’s still alive. Counting the small moments in life and all that. 

Harry isn’t in the tent when his eyelashes flutter open. His sleeping bag is neatly folded, the book and torch on top of his camping pillow. 

Louis' mouth forms widely into a yawn and he stretches like a cat until the joints in his back pop satisfyingly. He groans, rubbing a lazy hand over his face and eyes to get all the sleep out of them. Then he sits up, bringing his nose to his armpit and taking a sniff. Yeah, he smells bad. He really should go for a swim. Louis hopes he didn’t reek during the night. 

However, one pleasant surprise is that his spine doesn’t hurt from sleeping basically on the ground. Instead he feels refreshed and well-rested. There is only a soft lingering trace of sleep left behind, which he shakes off as he crawls out of the tent for a proper stretch. Louis scratches the back of his head as he takes in the picturesque scene.

It’s even more beautiful in the low morning sun. The water shimmers wonderfully and the birds sing, a few clouds floating in the baby blue sky. It makes Louis feel even more like a tosser than anything else though, and he snorts to himself. Of course now, glancing at the forest, it looks rather innocent. There are no monsters lurking around because monsters don’t fucking exist and in the daylight he can see that clearly. 

"Good morning," Harry greets. He has on a worn Rolling Stones shirt and the jean shorts from yesterday, his feet bare and already stained with mud. His green eyes are shielded by white sunglasses that make him look like an alien. His hair is no longer hidden underneath a beanie, but left as a curly mess atop his head. The curls frame his face and look soft from where Louis is standing. Even in the morning, with no proper bathroom, Harry somehow manages to look amazing. Louis isn’t jealous. He is not. But he is glad he doesn’t have a mirror with him, as well. It shields his ego from a total heart attack, probably. 

"Morning," Louis yawns, giving him an unnecessary wave. 

"Slept well?" 

"Great, actually. Uh, did you?" 

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs, “you make like no sounds at night. I had to check if you were still alive." 

Louis snorts. "Hilarious." His shoulders drop and his face pinches in an almost pained grimace. "I’m _really_ sorry, though. I didn’t mean to eat your food and then steal your sleeping space as well." 

"Aw," Harry grins, dimples appearing. "Don’t be embarrassed." 

"I’m not," Louis lies with a pout and Harry chuckles, probably not believing him one bit. "I think camping alone in the middle of the woods isn’t something I’d wanna repeat though."

Harry stills, his mouth turning downwards. "Are you leaving?" 

Louis’ eyes widen. He hadn’t even considered that as an option. "Uh no, no, of course not. Just like, in the future, you know." 

Harry visibly relaxes, giving Louis another smile. "Ah, gotcha. Would you like some tea?"

And — _oh_ , Louis only realises now that the fire is already burning. The glow of the flames is lost in the daylight, probably why he didn’t notice it in the first place. To his complete surprise, from a thick branch hangs a… black kettle. Yes, that is right, Louis is pretty sure his eyes are seeing correctly and Harry has brought a kettle out into the forest for a morning cuppa. If that’s not the most British thing ever, he doesn’t know what is. 

"Obviously, that’d be great," Louis says, stunned. "Also, I think you’re a liar," he adds as Harry goes to fetch a thermos can. It seems like there isn’t anything Harry isn’t prepared for.

"What? Why?" Harry asks over his shoulder, totally unfazed, not even faltering in his movements. 

"I can’t believe you were kicked out of your flat when you’re so fucking prepared to go camping." 

"Oh," Harry chuckles, crouching and carefully moving the stick away from the fire and setting the kettle on the ground. "Yeah, I do this quite often. I have a packed bag ready in my car at all times. The only thing I ever need to do is pack some food, really.” 

"You’re kidding," Louis says flatly, ambling over and sitting cross-legged on the ground. 

"Nah, I love camping. My dad would take me every summer holiday and my best mate and I always went when we were at university. My mum hates it, though. She’s scared something’s gonna happen to me out here. She watched _127 Hours_ even though I told her not to." 

Louis makes a small noise at that, having seen the movie with Lottie. "I really hope that doesn’t happen to either of us." 

"I don’t think we can get stuck between rocks, don’t worry. We’re safe." 

As the kettle cools down a bit, Harry pours steaming water into two thermos cans and hands one to Louis, a tea bag floating inside and everything. Wow. "Thank you." 

"Sure." 

They sip their tea in the sort of quietness that only happens in the mornings. It’s gentle and peaceful, and Louis hasn’t felt this content in a long time. He doesn’t think he’d feel like that if he was alone though. It’s all Harry’s doing, from making things easier for him to just being himself with his loud, honking laugh and angelic dimples.

It’s nice, and Louis enjoys the tea, although it’s without milk, completely black. It isn’t his usual preference but he would be a right twat to mention that aloud. Without Harry he'd just be drinking beer at nine (or so) in the morning. 

When they are finished with their tea, Louis goes for a piss and dutifully washes his hands in the lake. Since he is already at the shore, an idea builds in his head and a grin spreads on his lips. Without further thought, he pulls his hoodie over his head, throwing it in the direction of their space and peels his briefs over his bum and down his legs. 

"What’re you doing?" Harry asks him, deep voice unnaturally high. 

"What does it look like, Harold?" Louis calls back over his shoulder, "’M going for a dip." 

The morning air is cold on his naked skin and he quickly wades into the water until it’s up to his waist. It’s freezing, and for a moment Louis fears his balls are going to fall off. But he grinds his teeth and sticks through it. Some might say it’s a right wake up call. Louis can even see little fish swimming around his legs.

"Come in! It’s _great_!" He turns to shoot Harry a wide (slightly trembling) grin. 

Harry purses his lips, twisting them to the side as he stares out to the lake as if trying to solve a puzzle.

He just needs a little more convincing, Louis guesses. 

“C’mon, you wanted to camp at a lake. It’d be a shame not to go for a swim, yeah?” Louis says, repressing a shiver, his body urging him to move to warm up. “It’s not too bad when you stop thinking about how cold it’s going to be.” Louis pauses, thinking. He has never been in a colder body of water in his life before this morning. “It’s not _that_ cold!” 

That is all it takes for Harry to agree with him because after another drawn out moment of clear hesitation, he starts stripping down. 

To give him some privacy, Louis starts floating on his back, watching the formless clouds pass by. A smirk slips on his lips when he hears a promising splash. 

"It’s fucking _freezing_!" Harry squeaks, as much as a man with a deep, earthy voice can come close to a squeak. 

"Obviously," Louis says, a shiver running down his back as Harry comes swimming towards him and little waves slap against his face. He wrinkles his nose. 

“You said it’s just _cold_ ,” Harry accuses, now in the water up to his chest. “There’s a difference, you know.” 

Louis smiles, unbothered. "It’s too late for complaints.” 

Harry narrows his eyes at him, coming closer like a lion stalking its prey. Louis backs away slowly, giggling already although nothing has even happened yet. 

Louis takes his chances and splashes Harry before he can attack. In the span of half a minute, an unforgiving water fight breaks out, distracting them both from the coldness and warming them up as they chase each other around the lake. 

Harry, as it turns out, is just as vicious as Louis himself. Neither of them wants to admit defeat. Water flies and splashes everywhere as if they are in the middle of a storm out on the sea. 

Loud laughter fills the morning air. At this point, Louis can’t even open his eyes anymore. He flaps his arms blindly in Harry’s general direction, hoping for the best. 

Harry seizes the opportunity and dunks him underwater. Louis twists and turns in his grip until he can free himself and push away from Harry. Diving under the water as fast as he can, he kicks his legs and rows his arms. Sadly, he only manages three long strokes before his lungs run out of air and he is forced to resurface and therefore reveal his position. 

“Truce!” he wheezes breathlessly, gulping down oxygen and shaking his head like a dog. He rubs drops of water out of his eyes before opening them. Then he turns, mouth already open to say that this doesn’t mean Harry wins, but the words die on his tongue as he freezes on the spot. 

His heart flips in his chest three chilling times. 

On the shore stands a man with a beard and a blue cap on his head. He is wearing a flannel with a fleece vest over it. It’s the look on his face, more than his presence, that shocks Louis to the core. His black beetle eyes glare darkly out at them, and he stands leaning a bit to the side as if he can’t put his full weight on both of his feet. He stares at Louis straight on, heavily panting. 

"I win!" Harry says, somewhere at the edge of his vision, apparently unaware that they’ve got company. 

"What’re you doing 'ere?" the man calls out, and Harry spins around too. "You shouldn’t be 'ere!" 

Harry swallows audibly and, as if it’s an automatic response, drifts closer to Louis. "Uh, we’re camping!" Harry calls back, regaining the control over his speech quicker than Louis. 

Something about the man doesn’t sit right with Louis, not the stern, frozen look on the bloke's face nor the way he hasn’t moved since Louis first saw him. It doesn’t seem natural, the way he is standing. It’s as if he is experiencing some sort of glitch. His chest is falling and rising quickly, heavily, and it looks like he is having trouble breathing. There is a good distance between them and him — Louis shouldn’t be able see how his chest is heaving, but he can and he doesn’t like it. 

Louis reaches for Harry’s hand under the water and intertwines their fingers with a squeeze though whether it’s to calm himself or Harry, he doesn’t really know. He needs something to hold onto. His heart is beating out of rhythm, and the water seems to have dropped a few degrees colder.

Harry squeezes back. 

"You shouldn’t be ‘ere!" the man says again, spitting on the ground. 

"Okay. Eh, we are though," Louis finds the bravery to call. If his voice catches at the end, it’s nobody’s business. He gulps. 

Harry and Louis share a look as the man continues to stare at them with bulging eyes. Louis sees the same unsettlement he feels reflected back at him in Harry’s gaze. 

"Who are you?" Louis asks. But when he glances to the shore again, the man is gone. Poof. _Gone_ . Louis’ chest weighs down with shock, and the water is so freezing now that he can’t feel his body any longer. "What the fuck…" he whispers, his eyes scanning the bank and their tents. He tries to see between the tree trunks, but there is no movement of any sort. A shiver runs down his spine. The man looked like he couldn’t walk properly, let alone _run_. 

Louis would have thought he had just imagined the bloke if Harry hadn’t also clearly seen him too. 

Harry clears his throat. "Uh, maybe it was a hunter? Not one of your friends, was it?" The joke falls flat, both too freaked out by the encounter for humour. 

"I don’t like this," Louis murmurs, wiping his wet fringe out of his vision. "Where did he go so fast? I looked away for a _second…_ " 

Harry rolls his eyes with a huff, untangling his fingers from Louis’ and starting to float on his back. "He just wanted to scare us, dunno, man. It’s nothing," he says, as if he wasn’t just as panicked as Louis a few seconds ago. Perhaps it’s to save his pride or something.

Louis should mimic him and put on his bravest face, but his stomach remains in a tight knot. He can’t just shake it off like Harry seems to be able to. "Hmm."

Perhaps Harry is right. The man looked like he was a tad insane as well — though honestly, that is not really calming either. The expression on the bloke’s face was so unsettling. The only way to describe it would be _crazed_. 

"Relax, Lou…" Harry murmurs, swimming up to him. "If he comes back, we’ll deal with it, yeah? Maybe he was just taking a walk and wanted to fuck with us, huh? To scare the youth off or something..." 

"You’re way too quick to brush this off," Louis says, his eyes flicking from Harry’s left to his right to find any trace of knowledge in them. He doesn’t think Harry would be the type of guy to pull a bitter prank like this on him or anyone, and he doesn’t actually believe anyone would be this bored and fucked up to mess with a stranger just because, but he has seen way too many horror movies about camping trips gone wrong and he really doesn’t fancy being an oblivious victim. He has made a ton of jokes about those characters, and how funny would it be to walk right into the same fucking trap of stupidity? 

"Of course I am." Harry frowns at him, his brows strongly pushed together. "He’s probably taking the piss or something. Everyone knows the legend, so obviously people try to scare others with it." 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Louis narrows his eyes. "What. Legend?" he asks, teeth gritted partly to stop them from clattering together at the coldness and partly because _what… legend?_

"Oh." Harry’s mouth pops open and his features turn to utter surprise. "You… didn’t know? You don’t know?" 

"Fuck off," Louis spits, passing him and going straight for land. He’s had enough of this. He knows he sounds too harsh, but he can’t help it. His heart is still pounding hard against his chest. "There is no such legend. _You_ are taking the piss now." 

"There is," Harry insists, following close behind. 

They get out of the water and before Louis can even wonder how he is going to get himself dry again, Harry passes him to his tent naked as the day he was born, completely unabashed, and gets two clean towels out.

Louis tries not to, but he can’t help but admire the sweet little bum on Harry and the way his back muscles work with each step. Sue him; he is only human, alright?

Harry hands one towel to Louis and wraps the other quickly around his waist.

"Thanks," Louis mumbles, doing the same and securing the towel snugly around his hips. "You came prepared, full on. Feels like you wanna move here or something." 

Harry snorts.

For a moment the mood is lifted, but then Louis hears another crack and his attention boomerangs back to the man with the weird expression on his face that will surely creep into his nightmares. Louis sighs to himself. He is being stupid. The bloke is probably just a hiker. After all, there is The Goat’s Trail to be explored. 

"So," Louis prompts once they’ve gotten the fire going again. “The legend?” 

"It’s not really interesting, to be honest," Harry starts, rubbing his hands together to gain warmth. "The legend says that this area of the forest used to be a military base." 

"This is no good start, Harold," Louis deadpans. 

Harry ignores him, carrying on with his little story. "They did secret experiments on humans and animals alike. They were illegal though. Some doctor was crazy enough to think he could pair up a human with an animal and make a perfect soldier out of it _or… something_ ," Harry’s eyes drop to the ground, "and when they were found out, the military base was closed, of course. But one experiment might have escaped and to this day could still be roaming through this exact area of the forest. _Or_ , so they say." 

A chill devours Louis’ frame and he shivers. " _Bullshit_ ," he spits, harsher than intended, "that’s bullshit." 

Harry shakes his head a little and shrugs his shoulders. "That’s the legend. Honestly, no idea if it’s true or not." 

Louis sniffs the air. “Do you smell that?” he asks with raised brows. Harry frowns, opening his mouth to answer, but Louis continues before he has a chance to do so, “I smell bullshit.” 

Harry’s frown slides off his features and he rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, it is," Harry agrees with him, sighing, "I don’t believe in it either, mate. I mean, I’m here aren’t I? I wouldn’t have planned to spend the night presumably _alone_ in an area that was or is haunted by a _monster_ , now would I?" 

Louis’ shoulders slump because Harry has a point, a really good one actually. "You’re right, sorry." He fists his fringe, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "Sorry, I’m a chicken, alright? I love horror movies but I hate them so much too." 

Harry chuckles, apparently not one to be keen to keep up a fight. "I think I get what you mean. I only can watch horror movies when I know I won’t be spending the night alone." 

“Exactly.” Louis nods curtly. 

The topic drops after that. They sit for a few moments without talking, just warming themselves by the low fire, each hanging in their own cloud of thoughts. As time passes, the man and the legend leave Louis’ mind. Again, he feels that the fire is quite hypnotising and has a calming effect. 

"Do you want to stay?" Louis asks as the midday sun shines down on them, both once again clothed in their normal outfits. Harry is wearing his nice little jean shorts and Louis has slipped on a tee with a monkey printed on it. 

"Of course I want to stay," Harry scoffs as if Louis’ question is the stupidest thing he has ever heard. "I really don’t want to go home. Do you?" 

People, too many people, not enough space, another lecture from his mum, feeling like a child again in the worst possible way — yeah, no. Louis would rather take on any monster that lives in the woods than go back just yet. It would feel like defeat. He needs this, he reminds himself.

"No," he says, and Harry smiles. 

"Good." Harry nods. "Don’t worry, we’ll have a great time. There are no monsters in the woods. I swear." 

*** * ***

_The boy with the curly hair spoke with confidence, or perhaps blissful ignorance, because unknown to the two men sitting by the fire, two red gleaming eyes spied down on them from high up a tree, a thin tongue darting out quickly, catching the scent of living flesh._

*** * ***

As nice as it is to sit around the camping area and enjoy the pure nature, it does get a tiny bit boring after a while.

Harry has retreated to read in his tent and Louis is sitting in the dirt, staring out over the water and drawing stick figures into the sand with a thin branch. He has gone through a good half of his cigarettes, so if he wants to stay in the woods longer than another day, he’ll have to slow down before he runs out of them. Louis knows himself: the moment his cigarettes are gone, he’ll become restless and won’t be able to concentrate on anything but the urgent desire for a smoke until it is fulfilled. He really doesn’t want to go all the way to his car, drive to the nearest petrol station, and then walk the long way back to the campsite. That would take at least a day, no thank you. He’d rather not. 

So as the sun sinks lower on the horizon, Louis stands up and ambles to Harry’s tent. Poking his head inside, he finds Harry snuggled up in his sleeping bag, his book laying open on his chest and his eyelashes shut. Small puffs of air fall from his parted lips, but Louis can see his eyes moving underneath his lids, so Harry can’t be too deep into his afternoon slumber. Louis crawls into the tent and sits down on his own side for the night. He has yet to move back, and that thought alone makes Louis shifts uncomfortably. 

Forests at night are scary. 

"Harry," Louis whispers, poking the other man’s shoulder. "Haz. Harry…" 

"Hm, what?" Harry mumbles, smacking his dry lips and rubbing below his nose with a deep inhale. 

"I’m bored, entertain me." 

Harry huffs softly. "’M sleeping." 

"If you sleep any longer, you won’t get any sleep tonight," Louis says very wisely, tapping Harry on the tip of his nose. 

A smile hushes over the man’s face, but he doesn’t open his eyes. That won’t do. Louis doesn’t have his phone with him, he doesn’t even have a book in his duffle bag (and at this moment, he is desperate enough to open one, that’s how fucking bored he is). So his only source of entertainment is Harry or perhaps going for a swim, but they did that already. Even thinking about going back in that ice cold water wracks Louis’ body with a phantom shiver. 

Louis pouts although Harry can’t see it. "Haz, c’mon. Let’s go for a walk." 

It takes another beat or so before Harry blinks his eyelashes open. His gaze finds Louis’ immediately. Harry’s eyes are so fucking green, it’s like a little electro shock when they are on him. Louis’ stomach flips for no reason, really. He smiles at Harry, getting a wonderful, sleepy smile in return. 

"A walk sounds good," Harry rasps, his voice even deeper as sleep clings to every drawled word. He sits up and stretches his arms to his feet, the joints in his back cracking as he twists his upper body. Louis cringes slightly at the noise. "Do you have a map?" 

"I do." Louis grins, proud that he can at least bring something to the table. See — he isn’t _completely_ useless. 

"Great, gimme a mo’. I’ll be out in a second." Harry covers his yawn with the back of his hand. 

"Sure." Louis nods and crawls back out. He may or may not wiggle his bum a little bit too, but that’s nobody’s business but his own. Harry is a handsome guy, alright? You’d have to be blind not to see it, with his curls and sharp jawline and sparkling green eyes that look as pretty as the forest itself. How the fuck did he get so lucky to meet such a guy in the middle of nowhere? If that’s not fate, then Louis doesn’t know what it is. Before he can start spinning a fairy tale of soulmates and true love, Louis shakes those thoughts out of his mind. It hasn’t even been two full days; they don’t know shit about each other. For all Louis knows, Harry could have a wife and five kids at home, or a boyfriend who already writes sappy poems about Harry’s beauty. 

Louis knows that he latches onto people too easily and likes people to stay in his life, no matter the distance between them. That’s why he is still friends with everyone from his childhood, his university years, and is even in contact with the girl he kissed when he was eight years old (and not only because her family lives in the same street as his mum and they spend the holidays together because their parents are close friends). His mother has always said that he romanticises other people. Louis guesses in this case she’s right because after all it’s only been one night and Louis already feels like fainting every time Harry displays his dimples. 

It’s a blessing and a curse, really. 

While Harry does whatever he needs to do in his tent, Louis stretches his limbs. He rolls his shoulders back and twists his body as if getting ready for a marathon. When he woke up this morning, he had felt like sleeping on the ground wasn’t as bad as he originally thought it would be, but sitting hunched over in the same spot for hours did it to him. His neck is stiff and his spine screams at him for any bit of movement. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, having changed into a grey jumper. Louis smiles in amusement as he notices that Harry has the strings tied into a little crooked bow, one loop bigger than the other.

"Sure am," Louis says, and slips his bare feet into his Vans. It’s not like they are going to walk for hours on end, right? He isn’t much of a fan of socks to begin with and definitely not in this warm weather.

Louis snatches the map out of his duffle bag, and off they go, along a dirty path in no real direction, having no destination set in mind and leaving dust swirling up in their wake. 

For the first ten minutes or so, they walk side-by-side in companionable silence, looking around and just enjoying the quiet atmosphere. Their hands knock together here and there, and every time Louis’ hand touches Harry’s, he feels as if he has time-travelled back to when he was sixteen, just after he came out, being giddy about holding a boy’s hand for the first time in a romantic sort of way in public. 

Their shoes crunch as they walk over a few fallen leaves. Louis startles as Harry steps on a branch, and it gives in with a loud crack, reminding him of last night. 

" _Hm-mh_!" Louis skips in front of him, bending to pick a daisy flower. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, proudly showing it to Harry. 

"Aw," Harry drawls, cheeks dimpling, "cute. I love daisies; they’re lovely. My mum has a lot in her garden." 

Well, that settles it then. 

From there on, Louis picks every daisy he comes across, and soon enough it becomes a game to them. Harry joins in and they make a competition out of it: whoever has the most daisies at the end of their walk, wins. (Harry bullied Louis into giving him half of the daisies he had already picked, saying it was only fair). 

"I got another one." Harry grins, picking the flower and putting it into the bed of white petals in his other palm. "I think I’ve got eight so far." 

"Ha!" Louis barks not a second later, a shit-eating grin on his face. "I have _ten_. I’m winning. I love this game." 

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. Then his expression lights up even more. "A-ha! Another one. I’m close behind, man. Watch out." 

"I’m not scared," Louis says, spotting a daisy a few feet away. He jogs up to it, stumbling a little as his foot catches on a branch. "Eleven." He lifts the daisy into the air with victory, but stops all at once when he sees that Harry is no longer behind him. "Harry…" Louis blinks, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes. "Harry?" he raises his voice this time, cupping the side of his mouth. 

No answer.

A creak from above catches his attention and with a frown wrinkling his forehead, Louis looks up. He can’t make out anything unusual. Another crack from above makes his neck prickle with tension. It sounds like someone is adjusting their weight on a branch but — 

"Louis, look at this." 

Louis swallows, shaking his head to himself. With a last look up at the tree, he rolls his shoulders and glances around, trying to locate Harry. He sees movement to his left and heaves a breath. "What are you doing? Found a bed of daisies?" Without waiting for an answer, Louis strides over, finding Harry standing with his hands on his hips. There is definitely not a bed of daisies because as Harry hears him approaching, he glances at him and well, Louis really doesn’t like the expression coating Harry’s face. 

Louis comes to a halt next to him and with an unwilling glance down, he sees what has caught Harry’s attention. 

"Great," Louis deadpans. "A dead animal. Something I really wouldn’t have needed to see." He shoots Harry a look, eyebrows raised. 

Harry shakes his head. "It’s not that…" he says, a slight shake audible in his voice. 

Then, Louis gets it. At first glance, it had looked like they were just fallen branches and twigs. Upon closer observation, it turns out they are not. Louis’ stomach drops. 

They are standing not only in front of the remains of a dead, rotting deer, but at the shore of a sea made out of bones. A chill engulfs Louis’ frame and he pulls a grimace.

"Something’s had an appetite…" he says flatly. 

"Do you think wolves still exist in Britain?" Harry asks. 

Louis shakes his head. "I don’t think so."

"Bears?" 

"Harry," Louis rolls his eyes, "no."

"Then… what…?" Weakly, Harry gestures towards the animal remains.

Louis understands what Harry is on about at once and shudders, unable to help it. "Let’s not think about it."

"Well, it’s hard not to!" Harry frowns at him. "I’d rather have a wolf stalking around than…" he trails off, seemingly at a loss.

They are both on the same train of thought: if there are no bears nor wolves living in these woods, then what in the name of God hunted down what seems like a million animals?

Louis concludes that he doesn’t even want to know. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

"I don’t know, honestly," Louis huffs, shoving all sorts of disturbing thoughts aside with another shake of his head. "Let’s go back. I really don’t wanna look at it anymore." With that, Louis takes a big step away from the bones, wrinkling his nose. Shock overcome, his stomach roils in disgust. Frankly, if he stays here another minute, there is a big chance he is going to throw up. Louis can’t have that - there is nothing worse than vomiting - so they really should book it out of here before the worst happens. 

Harry is still staring at the bones as if to find meaning in them. 

Louis turns sharply around and without waiting for Harry, goes back on the same path they came from. It takes only another moment for Harry to jog over and join him. 

After a few minutes of silence, Harry nudges Louis’ side with his elbow. "Want to hear a story?" he asks. As if he has correctly read Louis’ thoughts, he adds, "It’ll take your mind off things." 

"Sure," Louis says, desperate to think about anything else. "Story time, brilliant." 

"My mum used to take me and Gemma — that’s my sister by the way — to a farm once in a while. I think she really didn’t know how to entertain us all day long over summer break," Harry starts and Louis allows himself a smile, as small as it might be. "They had a little baby deer, said they found it hurt on the grounds and nursed it back to health." 

"Aw," Louis coos, relaxing now that they are halfway back to their tents. 

"I begged my mum to take me to the farm every damn day, right? They even let me pet it." 

Louis tries to imagine a young Harry petting a baby deer. The image in his mind is too pure, so fucking cute and much better than to think about their disturbing discovery.

"They tried to take it back into the wild after a while, said they couldn’t keep it. But apparently the deer couldn’t make it and a few months later they found it dead. Starved. It was so used to humans feeding it that it couldn’t fend for itself, right?" 

Louis pouts. "That took a sad turn." 

"Yeah," Harry’s lips tug south, "they invited me for the funeral. We buried it on their grounds with a cross and everything."

Louis doesn’t like the gloomy expression on Harry’s face. He bumps his shoulder with his, asking, "Wanna hear something funny?" 

"Sure," Harry says, easily falling into step with him as he quickens his pace. Darkness is slowly but surely creeping in and Louis really is in no mood to blindly find his way through the forest. 

"When I was born, my mum had a cat, right?" Louis starts, smiling fondly at his feet. "And it was already pretty old. It died while she was pregnant with my sister Lottie." 

"Hey, I thought this was going to be a funny story," Harry interrupts. 

"Wait for it," Louis says, waving an impatient hand through the air. "Anyway, when Lottie was born, little me had the brilliant thought that somehow our cat was reborn as human again." 

Harry lifts his brows, an amused little smile curling his lips — good. 

"And, you know, I don’t really remember that since I was so young, but my mum loves to tell this story. Apparently every time Lottie would make a noise, I’d point at her and call her by our dead cat’s name. I was so convinced that Lottie was our cat that I would even pet her on the head and everything." 

Harry chuckles. "What was the cat’s name?" 

Louis grins, short-lived. "Patrick." 

Harry cracks up. " _No_!" he wheezes. 

Louis giggles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. His chest purrs in delight at Harry’s reaction, so he keeps going. It’s a great story. "All the way up until Lottie was two or so, I’d call her Patrick. It happened so many times, she actually started responding to it, naturally..." 

"Oh fuck," Harry holds his middle as he laughs, his bright face beaming at Louis, " _phew_ , that’s hilarious.” 

Louis joins in, laughing lowly as he watches Harry wipe a tear away. "I know right?" he shakes his head fondly at the memory. "Lottie loathes that story. I tease her endlessly with it. It’s fun. She's easy to rile up." 

"I believe that. How cute." Harry’s hand knocks against his, and his eyes dance when their gazes meet.

Louis’ heart grows warm.

"My sister always says I look like a frog when I smile." 

Louis eyes him, tilting his head a bit to the side and humming. He nods curtly. "She’s right." 

"Hey," Harry shoves him, and Louis stumbles forward a bit, "that's not nice. I do _not_ look like a _frog_ when I smile." 

"But you do," Louis giggles. Now that Harry has said it, he can’t unsee it. Every time Harry smiles with closed lips, he resembles a frog. The rest of the way back, Louis breaks out in huffy giggles. At this point Harry is making the frog-face on purpose, Louis is quite sure of that, but neither of them mind. As they climb up the small hill, bones and dead animals are nearly forgotten and all that is left is laughter and beaming smiles. 

"How many flowers have you got?" Louis asks as they walk down the other side of the hill to the campsite. 

"Uh, eleven," Harry says. 

"Me too." 

"So neither of us won." 

"I still win," Louis says with a smirk dripping of smugness. "I shared the first few flowers with you." 

"That’s not fair," Harry’s face darkens. "That’s why you shared them in the first place, so it’d be even." 

Louis sits down near their fireplace. "Gimme your flowers." 

"No," Harry pouts. 

"Please?" Louis bats his eyes at him dramatically, jutting out his bottom lip for effect. 

Harry purses his lips unwillingly, but hands over his share of flowers anyway. 

"Thanks." Louis folds his legs like a pretzel, spreading the daisies out on the ground. 

"Do you want water?" 

"Sure," Louis says, taking two flowers in his hands and starting to knot them together.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, hovering over Louis’ shoulder. He presses the water bottle against Louis’ neck. 

Louis yelps, and Harry chuckles at him before putting the bottle next to Louis’ kneecap. He sits down too.

"I’m making you a flower crown," Louis says matter-of-factly, a string of tightly braided flowers already laying on his thigh. 

"Oh." 

When Louis sneaks a quick look at Harry, he sees awe in his features and it does something to his heart that he is going to take with him to his grave. He wants Harry to look at him this fondly every fucking day. It’s quite addicting, and it sends a rush of energy through his bones. 

While Louis works to make Harry a pretty flower crown, Harry watches silently. It’s a nice sort of quiet, just like when they were taking their walk. It fits the atmosphere and Louis finds that he has no need to fill the silence, which is quite rare for him. He loves to talk, and he is used to loud people. His sisters mostly talk over each other with Jay yelling at them to be quiet for just a second, the twins crying, plus the telly on. So he isn’t really used to this, but it’s nice. It’s the exact change he craved and he loves that he can be silent with Harry. It feels oddly intimate and something he could potentially get used to. _Potentially_. 

"How did you learn to do that?" Harry asks as Louis ties the final flower back to the first flower. 

"I’ve got a bunch of sisters, remember? Had to be the cool brother. Our neighbour taught me." 

"You’re the best brother," Harry says, grinning as Louis puts his new crown carefully on top of his head. 

"Done," Louis says, tugging on the curls that hang by Harry’s temple. "Now you look like a proper King of the Forest." 

"Thank you," Harry says. He carefully pokes one of the flowers with the tip of his finger, his eyes rolling upward to look at it. "I love it." 

Harry looks fucking adorable. He should wear a flower crown every day - to work, to meet his friends, anywhere really. Why aren’t flower crowns a thing outside of festivals? It should be, in Louis’ humble opinion. 

"You should teach me. Then I can make one for you tomorrow." 

"Oh, you don’t have to," Louis says, but he can’t help the blush that slowly heats his cheeks. Harry isn’t better off, though, his face flushed a pretty red. 

"I’d like to though. You’d look beautiful in one." 

Louis’ cheeks grow even warmer. He takes a second to extinguish the small sparks of fire in his belly. "It’s just another thank you for everything, really. S’nothing," he brushes it off. He is not good with compliments at the best of times and coming from Harry, it’s even harder. 

"Alright."

Harry wears his flower crown for the rest of the night. 

*** * ***

When Harry asked him if he’d be okay sleeping alone this time, Louis had bravely lied through his teeth and said, _'sure, of course, no worries mate'._ He regrets that with his entire heart now. 

The light of his torch keeps him company, and just like a child, he feels safer with it on than off. However, it doesn’t stop the fear from spreading like a wildfire through his nerves as he lies awake, staring up at his tent and trying to _calm the fuck down._

He is nearly thirty years of age. He is a _grown_ _man_. He should _not_ be _this_ scared of the dark. Regardless, here he is, scared shitless. 

Ridiculous. 

See, the thing is that there are noises all around him, or that’s what it sounds like anyway. They can be oh-so-quiet, but still loud enough to be picked up over the beating of his heart - from the cracking of branches and the groaning of the trees, to the crackling of the slowly dying embers. It’s all there and it’s driving him _nuts._

Louis is pretty sure that he sees a shadow moving around outside, and he is pretty sure he won’t _survive_. Of course, he has already considered the logical possibility that it could be a trick of his strained eyes, seeing things that aren’t there, but _holy_ _shit_. Louis really believed he was past the age at which he sees images of a demon in the dark corner of his room or a clown hiding under his bed, but no. The more he stares at the tent with bleary eyes and a sinking heart, the surer he gets that _something_ is moving outside. 

Then, that fear is confirmed as he hears something else: _steps_. 

They aren’t just any steps, but ones that sound as if the owner is having trouble walking. Perhaps it’s more of a crawl. Louis is uncertain of which, but it’s the final fucking straw. Something is out there, he just knows it.

Louis’ shoots upright with a pounding heart and clammy hands, his stomach dropping. He reaches swiftly for his torch, swinging it around as if that will scare off whoever (whatever?) it is. The steps (crawling sounds?) walk away (crawl away?) from their campsite, and Louis takes his chances and unzips the tent (very stupidly, very bravely), falling onto the dirty ground.

Louis wastes no bloody time trying to figure out if he’s right or wrong that a monster or some lunatic of a person was lurking around the forest and rushes over to Harry’s tent, nearly ripping the zipper out in his haste — only to find it empty. _Empty_. 

As in, Harry isn’t in his tent. Yeah, that kind of empty. 

Louis scrambles to a stand and waves his torch around too wildly to actually see anything for more than a second. 

"Harry?" he whisper-shouts, his heart now out of control, pounding like it wants to find a way out of his body. His grip on the torch tightens. 

_What if_ the thing got to him? _What if_ the man from earlier came back and now Louis has to save Harry? _What if_ there really is a fucking _wolf_ prowling around the area…

Louis’ panicked thoughts freeze along with his entire body as his eyes catch a glimpse of movement. 

If his stomach had sunk a few levels lower before, it’s now lying on the forest ground by his feet. 

Louis gasps loudly, stumbling backwards with a hand slapped over his mouth to repress the scream growing in his chest, almost tripping over his own feet in his shock. 

When he directs the light to what he thought he saw, there is nothing there. Just darkness and trees. Definitely no red eyes staring at him. 

Again, Louis waves the torch around trying to locate the eyes, but — nothing. Blackness. Tree crowns. The forest. Water. Blackness. Tree crowns. The forest — 

Wait— what the fuck, _what the fuck was that?_

"You okay?"

Louis screams, whirling around and coming face to face with Harry, who smiles confusingly at him, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the beam of light Louis is directing toward him full on. 

Quickly, Louis lowers the shine to the ground. 

"I guess that’s a no," Harry says with a chuckle. 

"Where were you?" Louis’ voice breaks. 

"I had to piss."

Right. 

Of course. 

That _does_ make sense. 

Obviously. 

"Don’t worry, I washed my hands in the lake." 

"I —" Louis gulps checking over his shoulder into the darkness. No red eyes peering at him. They are all but gone, or they weren’t there in the first place. _Still_. "I saw… I saw something."

"What?" Harry puts his hands on his hips. 

"I… don’t know," he admits, bringing his thumb to his mouth and biting down on the pad of his finger. 

"It was probably just a fox. Don’t worry." Harry pats his shoulder. "Do you wanna sleep in my tent again?" 

Louis releases a big, relieved breath. " _Please_ ," he whimpers. "I’m not made to sleep alone in the woods. I feel like I’m going insane, H, _in-fucking-sane_. I keep hearing things."

His eyes are close to spilling out tears, that’s how freaked out he is. Louis is too old for this shit. His poor body can’t handle all these freaky emotions. He definitely prefers the city life now. He should have just gone to a club or something instead of having the brilliant idea to go camping, out of _all_ things. Louis is pretty sure that people his age drown their problems and stress in alcohol. He should take notes. _Fuck_. 

"Sure, get in," Harry says, easy as ever. "Nothing will happen to you, or us, or whatever. You’re only hearing things because it’s nighttime." 

"Everything is fucking scary at night," Louis admits. 

"Even bringing out the trash in a perfectly safe neighbourhood." Harry throws the joke over his shoulder, getting into the tent himself and twisting his bum around to sit on his sleeping bag. He pats the empty spot beside him. "Get in," he says again with a smile that calms Louis down - not by much, but it does have a nice effect on his nerves.

"Thanks a lot, mate. I swear I’m not usually this scared. I’m perfectly fine to sleep alone at home. Without a light on, too," Louis chuckles, his cheeks flushed and burning. He goes to grab his sleeping bag from his tent and stuffs it through the circled opening. Harry helps him arrange the bag and takes the camping pillow from Louis, fluffing it out for him. 

"It’s alright. I really don’t mind, Lou," Harry says, a smile on his lips which lets Louis know that he is speaking the truth. "If I’m honest, I’d rather have you next to me as well. It’s cosier than all alone."

"Yeah," Louis breathes. Before he crawls in next to Harry and gets comfy, he checks outside one last time where he saw the gleaming red eyes. 

Nothing. 

Literally _nothing_ is there; it’s all trees and darkness. Louis shakes off his unease and gets into the tent at last. They zip it shut and that’s it. Louis relaxes instantly, looking into Harry’s eyes — they are so green, so beautiful, so calm. 

Harry’s face twists into a long yawn. 

"Are you going to read again?" Louis asks. 

"Hm," Harry presses his index finger into the inner corner of his eye and blinks his lashes afterwards. "I don’t think so. I’m pretty knackered." 

"Okay," Louis whispers, wiggling more into the warmth of his sleeping bag. "I’m _really_ sorry." 

Harry turns his head to face him. "Don’t be." 

"Okay," Louis repeats, voice small. 

"Good night, Louis."

"Good night." 

Harry closes his eyes with a sigh that turns into another yawn. Louis wants to mimic Harry and fall asleep, too - quite desperately so, if he’s being honest. Sleep means that morning will come sooner than later, but he can’t find rest. Although he feels more safe with Harry’s snores filling the tent, he just can’t seem to do the same. He watches Harry sleep like a creep, watches the way his chest rises and falls. 

Louis knows that Harry must be pretty into sports - after all, he has seen Harry naked - and he thinks that Harry would get along great with Liam, who basically lives in the gym. Louis also guesses the tattoos decorating his body would earn him a few points from Zayn, who loves body art as much as Louis does. Louis and Zayn have even gone with each other to get a few more tattoos since their first meeting. Zayn has gotten more since he has a higher tolerance to pain than Louis does. Although it’s advised against, Louis usually takes a couple of shots to loosen up before getting it over with.

Louis wonders what Harry’s usual life is like, what job he is applying for, and where he is currently living. Louis realises that he wants to get to know Harry properly, and he wonders if Harry would like the same - if they could become friends or maybe even more after their camping trip is over.

Louis’ thoughts make him sleepy enough to be able to close his eyes, but the moment he does, his ears pick up on another sound that is definitely not coming from the man sleeping soundly next to him. It’s coming from outside. 

Louis frowns, blinking around the dark and straining to hear better.

It’s more than simply a branch breaking, Louis is pretty sure of that. What exactly it is he can’t identify. Louis sits up, rubbing a harsh hand over his face as he tries to listen more closely. He holds his breath as another shuffling sound erupts, loud enough to reach Louis over Harry’s snores.

"It’s a bug," Louis tells himself, nodding, "or a rabbit." 

However, he can’t talk himself down from his panic as yet another cracking sound cuts through his panicked brain. His hands start to shake, and he clenches his sleeping bag until his knuckles turn white. 

"Harry," Louis says, his heart pounding twice as fast as it should.

The man doesn’t stir though, continuing to sleep peacefully. Louis narrows his eyes at him.

How — just how the fuck — can this guy sleep when Louis is having a bloody heart attack? He surely wasn’t lying when he told Louis he’s a deep sleeper. Under normal circumstances Louis would feel awful to wake anyone, but honestly this is _urgent_. It’s a life or death situation.

Louis is pretty sure they are prey for some animal, probably the animal that ate its way through all the other dead animals they discovered. Louis isn’t having it. He shakes Harry’s shoulder forcefully. "Harry, c’mon, wake _the_ _fuck_ up." 

"Why?" Harry mumbles, lips barely moving. His voice sounds so quiet and sleepy that Louis feels even worse for waking him - but not bad enough to give it a rest.

"Please." Louis shakes him again. "Please, Harry, wake up." 

Harry opens his eyes, blinking until his vision clears. He frowns at Louis and to Louis’ utter surprise, Harry reaches out and clasps his hand, squeezing. "What is it?" Harry asks, groggy but more awake than a second ago. 

"I keep hearing noises," Louis whispers. 

"Alright," Harry says, sitting up. Their hands still together, and Harry rubs his thumb over the back of Louis’. "I’ll go have a look."

"No!" Louis exclaims. 

Harry gives him a funny look. 

"Please don’t," Louis says with a softer voice. "Please don’t go out there." 

"Louis," Harry sighs, letting go of his hand in favour of covering his face. "I really wanna sleep. It’s probably nothing, alright?" 

"Don’t," Louis says again, grabbing Harry’s shoulder as he goes to open the tent. "Please don’t. Please, please, please, _please_ stay." There is too much whining in his voice, he knows, but he can’t help it. His heart is lodged in his throat and his armpits are starting to feel clammy. 

Harry looks at him unimpressed. "This is real life, alright? We aren’t starring in a horror movie. We’ll live." 

Louis scoffs. "Oh yeah, sure. That’s what the people in horror movies say too!" 

But, he is ignored, quite pointedly so, as Harry gets out of the tent. "Gimme the torch," Harry says, holding out his palm. 

Louis hesitates, but hands it over after a beat or two. 

Harry turns on the light, swinging the torch around the area, and Louis scoots closer to the opening as Harry takes a few steps towards their fire pit, barefoot and everything. 

"And?" Louis whispers, poking his head outside and taking a fearful look around. 

"Well," Harry lets the word roll slowly off his tongue, spinning equally as slowly in a circle, observing the scene. " _Well_ , nothing," he says with a full body shrug, swaying the light around a bit more. "Literally _nothing_ , Louis." 

Louis’ chest caves, but not in relief. He is one hundred percent sure he heard shuffling as if something was close by. He feels so fucking stupid again. "Oh," he says, blinking around.

"Yeah." Louis can hear the annoyed edge to Harry’s voice now and he knows he took it one step too far. Again. "I guess I shouldn’t have told you about the urban legend." 

"Shit," Louis face-palms.

"What?" 

"You just reminded me of it." The story of the legend settles like rocks into the pit of his stomach.

Harry snorts. "S’not true, remember?" 

Louis makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t say anything, because he'd be a proper baby then. He doesn’t want Harry to hate him. He wants the exact opposite, and right now he’s not leaving that great of an impression, is he?

"There’s nothing outside,” Harry says, crawling back into the tent. “Whatever you heard was probably just a fox or deer, alright? We’re in nature, nature makes sounds." 

No matter how rational that might be, Louis is still left sceptical.

"Hm," Louis watches Harry settle back into his sleeping bag, but doesn’t move himself. 

"Come on," Harry urges, yawning again. "Let's get some sleep, eh?" 

Louis knows he won’t be able to sleep, not now.

"Okay," he says despite himself and lies down, this time on top of his sleeping bag because he is sweating so much. It’s cold sweat though, not a good sign. Louis had wanted peace not… this, whatever this is. "I think I don’t like camping very much," Louis confesses after a moment or two. 

Harry chuckles, eyeing him with amusement in the dim light. "It’s not everyone’s thing. Gemma hates it too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Harry nods seriously. "She came with me one weekend, and there were ants in her tent." 

Louis cringes. "Ew."

"Never again, she said." Harry kills the light and Louis’ nerves spring back to life. Fuck. Fuck this. 

"I don’t regret it," Louis whispers, drawing his knees to his chest. 

"What?" 

"Coming out here." 

Harry blinks his eyes open to refocus on him, his gaze too intense considering how tired Louis knows he is. It sets free another whirlwind of fire in Louis’ veins. "Yeah?" Harry smiles softly. 

"Mhmm." 

"Why?" Harry is now full-on grinning. 

Louis squints at him. "I think you know why." 

"Nuh-uh." Harry schools his expression to something close to innocent. He could pull it off were it not for the mischievous glint in his eyes, so strong that Louis doesn’t even need a light to see it. "Why? Tell me." 

"Jesus, don’t make me say cheesy crap. I swear to God, Harry, if that thing doesn’t kill us, I’m going to kill you. With my bare hands."

Harry cackles, shaking his head. "I’m glad my roommate likes Christian rock music," he says after he’s calmed down.

Louis cracks a smile. "Oh yeah?"

They share a gaze, and Louis feels a bit lighter after that. In just that exchange, Louis feels as if everything has been confirmed.

Harry likes him. 

He likes Harry. 

They like each other. 

Yeah, Louis is definitely sixteen again. 

"Do you think you can sleep now?" Harry mumbles.

"I don’t know…" Louis bites down on his bottom lip. 

"C’mere."

"Huh?"

Harry rolls his eyes and opens his arms. "Get in here."

"What?" Louis says again, chuckling — nervous.

"Let me cuddle you. I’m gonna protect you against the big, bad monsters of the forest." 

Louis grins, and Harry grins back at him. It takes another beat to get Louis to move, but then he's pressed to Harry’s side, Harry’s arm wrapped around his body. Louis won’t lie, he definitely feels much safer now, cozy and very comfy. Harry is a great cuddler. He rubs a hand up and down Louis’ spine, sending tiny pleasurable sparks to his soul. 

A happy little sigh slips past his lips and he presses even closer to Harry. He smells good, warm, with his natural kind of scent clinging to his clothes and his hair. Louis doesn’t want to know what he himself smells like at this very moment, but Harry hasn’t pushed him away yet, so it can’t be that bad. 

"Better?" Harry murmurs into his hair, nose bumping his forehead.

"Yeah," Louis speaks into Harry’s chest. "Much better, thank you."

"Hm," Harry hums happily, and maybe it’s from the lack of sleep or the late hour of the night, but he presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head, seemingly without much thought. The gesture makes Louis’ heart beat faster and his breath hitch. "G’night," Harry murmurs, already pretty much gone, the words coming out slurred and tangled together. 

It doesn’t take long for the tent to fill with Harry’s snores, drowning out every other forest noise. Louis feels wonderfully content in Harry’s arms, and he, too, falls asleep happily rather than scared to the core. 

*** * ***

“Why are you breathing so heavily?” Louis whispers into the darkness. Just ten minutes after going to sleep, he is wide awake again. Harry isn’t snoring anymore but panting, the breathing too heavy to be normal. It worries Louis a bit. Perhaps he is suffocating Harry or something. 

“I’m not. You are…” Harry whispers back, tightening his arms around Louis. “I told you that everything is fine. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you, alright? Go to sleep.”

“But… no?” Louis blinks against the faint moonlight. “I’m _not_.”

They both lie wide awake, holding their breath. 

The heavy panting doesn’t stop. 

*** * ***

" _I told you_ ," Louis gasps the next morning. “I _fucking_ told you!”

"Well…" Harry clears his throat, putting one hand on his hip. "It wasn’t a monster though, Louis. Don’t be daft." 

“Oh yeah?” Louis taunts. “And that breathing we heard last night was completely normal too, innit? No animal breathes that loudly.”

“And you’re the animal expert, are you?” Harry shakes his head at him. “Are you trying to actively scare me with your fear?”

“Obviously not,” Louis huffs, crossing his arms.

They have only been awake for three minutes tops, but their peaceful hours of sleep are wasted, replaced by stress and fear because Louis’ tent is…

_Well_.

It looks like it has been attacked by something with sharp claws or long teeth. The fabric is tattered, ripped apart. What is left of the tent has sunken in on itself like a popped balloon. The contents of Louis’ duffle bag are scattered all across the campsite, making a path into the forest as if they are in _Hansel and Gretel._

"It was a fox," Harry states firmly. 

" _That_ ," Louis points wildly to his tent — or what once used to be his tent — "was _no_ fucking fox. Just look at it!"

"I am," Harry says, throwing his hands in the air in frustration, "but I’m not giving into the stupid idea that a _monster_ did this. Monsters," he inhales deeply, fixing Louis with a pointed glare, "do _not_ , and I repeat, do not fucking _exist_."

Louis rolls his head back with a defeated groan that makes his chest vibrate. "I need a cigarette," he says to the sky, beautiful, blue, and unbothered. 

The sky isn’t scared. Louis wants to be the sky. 

"I have to piss." 

"Don’t." Louis reaches out to stop Harry as he goes to the forest.

Harry’s eyes flick from Louis’ hand on his arm to his face. He arches one, slow eyebrow, looking completely done with Louis’ bullshit.

" _Don’t_. Let me come with you."

Harry laughs in disbelief. "Are you crazy? I’ll be right back." He shakes Louis’ hand off and stalks to the forest, disappearing in between high tree trunks. Louis watches him go until he can’t see any more movement. Fuck. Okay. One man down.

His eyes dart back to his fucked-up tent and he sighs.

Logically, of course Harry is correct. Whatever it was that Louis had heard the night before must have come back and taken it upon itself to ruin Louis’ tent out of spite or something. Maybe because the sandwiches are in a cooling box in Harry’s tent and so all it could find was the bit of gummy bears Louis had left in his. It makes Louis worried nonetheless. If a fox can be this aggressive… 

Louis' head snaps up and his eyes squint into the distance. Harry is coming back, slowly, taking his time. He heads straight for the water, washing his hands. 

"See, still alive," Harry grins at him. 

"Hm." Louis turns sharply away from Harry, feeling his chest shudder with his breath. He really, really feels so fucking dumb, like a tosser, and he hates that Harry is mocking him. It makes him feel small and insane. Plus, surely it doesn’t give off a good impression, does it? Louis should braid another flower crown for Harry.

"Oh c’mon, Louis," Harry says, standing close. 

Louis doesn’t turn.

"Don’t pout, alright? We’re okay, yeah?" Harry wiggles his fingers into Louis’ neck, tickling.

Louis jerks away and huffs something close to a laugh but not quite. He glares at Harry, though he obviously isn’t angry with Harry. He is more pissed at himself. His irrational fear is getting out of hand.

Harry goes to tickle his sides and a laugh bubbles out of Louis’ throat. He paws at Harry’s hands, trying to dance away, but suddenly Harry has Louis pressed to his front. His breathy giggles on Louis’ exposed skin tickle much more than his fingers do, and Louis laughs throatily as Harry goes for the sensitive skin at his hips. 

Louis yelps, catching Harry’s hands and not letting go of them. Harry stills behind him, hooking his chin on his shoulder. 

"Sorry," Harry murmurs. "I’m not trying to be a dickhead on purpose, alright?" He blows a raspberry kiss into Louis’ neck, and suddenly Louis’ heart books a ticket to the sky and takes off. 

"I’m not trying to be a baby on purpose, yeah?" Louis whispers back. Because Harry is so content behind him, he finds the courage to sink against Harry’s chest, enjoying the strong arms that embrace his frame.

Harry wraps his arms around him more tightly, squeezing twice. "I know." 

They stand like that for a good few minutes until Louis’ bladder ruins the moment. 

"Do you want me to come with you?" Harry calls after him, laugher evident in his cheery voice. 

Louis flips him off without glancing back.

Harry cackles, and Louis guesses that they are more than okay. 

It’s daylight, Louis is fine. 

He is. 

_Truly_. 

*** * ***

The night creeps up on them too soon. They spend the day picking flowers again, and Louis teaches Harry how to braid them into a crown. He’s quite good with his hands and a quick learner. By the time the afternoon has rolled around, there is a crown of daisies perched on top of Louis’ head too. 

They sit at the fire longer than the last time, but that is quite alright because Louis has his head on Harry’s shoulder, Harry has an arm around him, and their legs are tangled together. It’s nice, nicer than Louis dares to admit aloud. Harry is absentmindedly stroking up and down the inside of Louis’ thigh, and they both stare with unfocused gazes into the dying, cackling embers. Sparks fly from the wood and dance away in the night wind. 

The moon shines above in the black sky and it’s a beautiful night. With Harry’s head leaning against the top of his, it feels kind of ridiculous that he was so scared out of his mind the night before. The forest lies innocently behind them and the calm surface of water gleams with the reflection of the stars. 

Louis could sit here all night. He’s so warm, so peacefully happy. 

"Hey Lou…" Harry murmurs. 

"Hm…" Louis blinks his sleepy eyes. His eyelids have grown heavy in the past half hour. 

Harry clears his airways softly. "I… Would you…" he stops with a huff, and Louis lifts his head off his shoulder to look at him properly, curious. Harry smiles nervously.

Louis arches his brows as a prompt for Harry to go on.

Harry scrunches his nose. It’s adorable. "Would you like to go for a… drink… sometime? When we survive this camping trip, that is." 

"Oh," Louis exhales, "oh!" 

Harry winces, flinching away with a pained grimace. "We don’t have to, of course. We could also go just as friends if that’s more your thing, I mean —" 

"No," Louis cuts into his rambling, grabbing Harry’s thigh to anchor himself. "No, no, yes. I mean, of course. I’d love to get drinks with you sometime. Obviously. I don’t make flower crowns for just anyone."

Harry’s smile creeps slowly over his face, his eyes lighting up like the stars above. "Yeah?" 

"Oh, you’re so on," Louis says, happiness bubbling up in his chest. 

"Great, okay, yeah, that’s uh... that’s awesome," Harry scratches his throat and oh, is that a blush? It looks good on Harry when Louis is the reason behind it. 

"Yeah," Louis agrees softly, playing with a loose thread at the hem of Harry’s jean shorts. "I’m glad you don’t have a wife and five kids waiting at home for you." 

Harry stills, a puzzled look crossing over his face as he laughs, low, throaty, and confused. "What the fuck?" 

Louis pulls a grimace, can’t quite believe he said that out loud. "Nothing." 

"Where is this coming from? I’m way too young to have five children."

"Ah-ha," Louis snaps his fingers. "But you don’t deny having a wife."

Harry shakes his head at him, amused. "What? No. What? I don’t have a wife. I’m not even dating anyone."

"Good," Louis raises his chin. "I’m glad you aren’t dating anyone."

"Yeah, me too." Harry is still smiling at him, and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, too quick for Louis’ hazy brain to catch up, Harry cups his cheek, spreading his pinky, ring, and middle finger under Louis’ chin and then — 

And _then_ , Harry’s lips are on his. 

Just like that, they are kissing. Louis gasps without meaning to and reciprocates the kiss after only one skipped heartbeat. His heart swells to the size of a watermelon in his chest. He could get high on this feeling alone. It’s so sweet — like sugar. 

Harry’s lips are just as soft they look, and they feel even better than Louis’ mind could ever imagine. Their kiss morphs from innocently close-lipped to them parting their mouths at the same time, their tongues meeting. Louis’ body is captured by the overwhelming feeling of needing to be even closer to Harry as he already is, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to. He just kisses back fiercely, trying to explain his feelings with the nipping of his teeth on Harry’s bottom lip, swallowing the moan that is pushed into his mouth in return. The kiss is hot like the fire, and sweet like the candies they have shared. The combination makes Louis weak in the knees and he is glad that they are already sitting down. Harry inhales deeply through his nose, and yeah, okay, the air is getting limited in his lungs too. Louis breaks apart from Harry, grinning at him. 

Their eyes linger on one another for a moment, shining in the low glow of their surroundings. 

Harry pecks his lips again briefly and then draws back, pulling Louis under his arm. Louis smiles at the embers with heated cheeks, and brings his cold foot between Harry’s. Harry catches his foot with his own, and they play footie until their giggles become breathless.

The question of where Louis is going to sleep tonight is pretty clear, especially since his tent is wrecked beyond repair. It was quite expensive to be honest, and Louis winces at the thought that he spent his last pennies on it. They’ll only stay together in Harry’s tent for one more night, though. They had both agreed, looking at their leftover food, that it'd be best to go home tomorrow. Louis is torn between relief and sadness. 

Harry is waiting for him with open arms when he crawls into the blue tent and Louis hesitates only for a short second before snuggling up against Harry’s chest. He throws one leg over his hip, bringing their bodies even closer than last night. 

"How old are you?" Louis murmurs into the peacefulness surrounding them. All he can hear now is their breathing and Harry’s heartbeat, which works wonders on his nerves, honestly. 

"Twenty-five, you?" 

"Twenty-seven." 

Harry makes a happy sound at that, and Louis slaps his arm. 

"I’m nearly thirty without a job. There is absolutely nothing to be happy about, H." 

Harry’s mood sobers into something softer. "Some things take time," Harry murmurs. "What did you study, anyhow?" 

"Uh," Louis blinks, "I finished my master’s in children’s education last year. But in my defence, I took a gap year to help my mum with the twins. What about you?" 

"Art." 

"Aw, an artist," Louis coos as Harry turns red. 

"Yeah, uh, I’m applying at the moment for some random jobs though. My mum warned me that I couldn’t just become an art dealer overnight, and she was right. So I’ve applied at the art museum in Manchester and London, and as an art teacher in primary school." 

"That’s amazing," Louis says, his heart thundering in his chest at the mention of Manchester. "So you live in Manchester then?" 

"Yeah, yeah I do." 

Louis hums, pleased. 

"What about you?" 

"Same." 

They stay in silence after that, but they’re both thinking the same fucking thing: they live in the same city; they could have met at the pub, they could have met at the park, they could have met in a primary school staff room and yet - out of all places, they both ended up in this forest at the same time. Fate is having a proper great time and Louis wants to kiss the stars. 

He falls asleep, happy, warm, and relaxed. 

*** * ***

Their night is cut short. 

Louis is startled awake by a noise, this time made even more terrifying than the previous two nights by two simple reasons that Louis takes in with a gulp and a galloping heart. 

First: Harry isn’t with him in the tent. 

Second: it wasn’t just any noise that woke Louis up. It was a _scream_. 

Louis scrambles out of the tent before his brain has a chance to catch up and stop him. He jumps up, looking around with wide eyes. 

"Harry?" he calls, cupping his mouth. 

Nothing. 

"Harry!" 

_Nothing_. 

"Fuck me, come on, where the hell are you?" Louis hisses through his teeth. His heart is blocking his airway, sitting like a rock on his sternum and tightening his ribcage as a wave of utter anxiety washes over him. 

It takes a few moments to get used to the darkness. Louis stands very still, holding his breath as he tries to get a clearer look at his surroundings. He searches for Harry’s shadow somewhere, but all he can make out are the trees, the lake, and what once was his tent. 

Over the rush of blood in his ears, and the wild _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat, his eardrums pick up another noise that sends his nerves flying to the sky without a ticket back: _footsteps_. 

Quick footsteps coming his way. He whirls around just in time to see Harry running towards him, his green eyes ripped open in sheer panic. He doesn’t slow down when he spots Louis. 

" _Run_!" Harry calls out to him, passing him with a gust of wind.

But Louis stands frozen to the spot. Can’t move. Can’t do anything. His mind is on lock down. He can’t feel his body, his soul dangling up in the air somewhere.

Apparently, Harry notices that he isn’t following. Louis startles as Harry pulls on his jacket, his chest heaving as he pants, "Come on!"

"What is happening?" Louis presses, blinking around. But he doesn’t need an answer now, because he can see it. 

He can see it. 

Two red, gleaming, unnatural eyes stare at him from the forest. As Harry yelps and pulls on his arm again, his brain finally gives the signal to fucking move and he stumbles after Harry. 

"Holy shit," Louis whines, running just behind Harry. He checks over his shoulder, which he really, really, really regrets doing because what is after them is… definitely not a fox. Louis’ vision is too blurry to get a clear picture - it’s just something on the ground, running on all fours and _fuck_ — 

_Hurry_. They need to hurry the fuck up. That’s all Louis knows. 

"Go, go, _go_ ," Louis pants, catching up to Harry and passing him. He slows just a bit, only to take Harry’s wrist to pull him along. Harry might have long legs, but apparently he isn’t that great of a runner after all. 

"Fuck," Harry wheezes, "that way!" He points, and they take a left turn, running onto another path that leads — somewhere. Louis doesn’t know, can’t think, can’t stop, can’t breathe.

His legs start to burn and his sides sting with pain. His lungs have run out of air and he is ready to collapse. 

"I... I — I can’t," Louis gets out, slowing down a bit, just enough to suck air into his lungs. 

" _No_ ," Harry growls - fucking _growls_ \- and pulls at him, urging him to go faster again. 

Louis checks over his shoulder again, then does a double-take. 

"Harry." He slows down, his legs feeling like jelly. "Harry, _stop_." 

"No." 

Louis tugs on his arm, holding on tight until Harry comes to a shuddered halt. “It’s gone,” Louis presses his hands into his sides, bending forward and gulping down a load of oxygen. He coughs roughly, wiping spit from his lips. "It’s gone. What the fuck was that?"

Harry huffs, puffs and looks around. He rubs a hand over his sweaty forehead. "I don’t know." He meets Louis’ gaze, and Louis sees unshed tears shimmering in the green of his eyes. "I have no fucking idea, God. I just went off for a piss, right? And then —" He cuts himself off with a whimper, his bottom lip wobbling. He brings the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing down as a strangled noise comes from his swollen throat. "I thought you had followed me. I thought it was you and I —" he groans, dropping his hands and staring at Louis intensely.

The look on Harry’s face can’t be described as anything else but manic. Very close to a breakdown. And if Harry is already close to breaking, that says a lot, doesn’t it? Harry should be the person waving Louis’ fears away, but here he is, on the verge of tears, stunned to the core, panicked. It’s no good. It makes it real.

"And I see it, and it —" Harry cuts himself off and shudders visibly, running a hand through his tangled curls. "We have to go. Please, just let's go, alright? I don’t want it to catch up."

Louis eyes him, can’t help but feel a bit of doubt in the pit of his stomach. Is Harry fucking around with him? Did Harry take something? _But_ he saw it himself, saw those red gleaming eyes tonight and before as well. That’s enough proof to get him to move. Besides, there is now way that Harry is fucking with him. His reactions are too real to be acting. 

They fall into step in a fast stride, both still exhausted from their marathon run through the woods. The air between them fills with their panting breaths and pounding hearts. 

"I’m scared," Harry admits after a few beats, taking Louis’ hand in his. 

Louis really doesn’t want to be the person to say it, but, "I told —" 

Harry shoots him a deathly glare. 

"— you," Louis ends, biting the tip of his tongue. He flinches as a branch creaks from somewhere to his right. "Where are we?" 

"I don’t… know," Harry stops walking, glancing around. 

"Should we… go back?" 

"No, what the fuck? Are you nuts? Do you have a death wish?” 

"I don’t know," Louis bites down on his bottom lip in worry. It’s dark, and now that they are away from the water and much deeper into the woods, the crowns of the trees have blocked out the moonlight, setting them in a shady darkness. Louis jumps at another noise, holding onto Harry's hand tightly.

Whatever they do, they can’t just stand around waiting for the monster to come back. Louis does not have a death wish; he is just confused. They are alone in the middle of nowhere without a proper light source, their phones, or a map - all while a monster is onto them? Yeah, no. Louis doesn’t know what to do, what to think, how to get out of here. 

Harry swallows thickly, tugging on his hand and bringing Louis’ attention back to him. "Let’s just walk, yeah?" 

"Hm." 

Until their bodies calm down from their hectic run, they walk in silence, both trying to catch a clear thought that could help to rationalise the situation they have found themselves in. Louis’ sides ache less as his lungs fill with the fresh night air. But it doesn’t get easier to digest what happened because above all Louis is still confused and scared. Harry isn’t doing much better. When Louis sneaks a glance at him, Harry has his head held low. His fingers tremble in Louis’ grip. There are no reassuring words that could make it any better, though. Louis feels the same, and saying it will be okay would be a blunt lie. 

And as it turns out, Louis is right. When he looks in Harry’s direction again, he falters in his steps before slowing down completely. His breath hitches in his throat and his heart starts to pound violently. His grip on Harry’s hand tightens until Harry catches on and sends him a quick, confused glance. Whatever is reflected back at him on Louis’ face must tell him everything he needs to know because his head immediately snaps in the direction Louis is staring. 

Red eyes leer out at them from behind a thick bush. 

An iron hand winds around Louis’ rib cage, and before he knows truly what to do, they both take off. Wasting no more time to stop and stare, they bolt in the other direction, running faster, faster, faster. The sound of — 

_Shuffle, push, shuffle, push, shuffle —_

Edges them on to run as quick as the wind, as fast as their legs can carry them. 

But the — 

_Shuffle, push, shuffle, push, shuffle —_

Is scarily fast approaching from behind them. 

They aren’t fast enough. Only wings could save them now, Louis knows. Again, he is right, because not even a second later, Harry yelps, tripping and falling harshly onto the ground. 

Louis spins around in full speed, chest heaving and eyes wide. He takes one tiny step towards Harry, to help him up and keep moving, but his idea is cut short because — 

_Because_. 

_Because_. 

It’s too late. 

The thing caught up too fast, having the advantage of four limbs rather than two. 

Louis gulps, loud. 

His body is frozen as a wave of cold shock hits him like a tsunami. 

The thing lets out a dangerous hiss. A tongue, thin and quick, darts out of its gaping mouth which reveals two rows of razor sharp teeth. It moves its bald head in jerky movements, resembling a curious (and deadly) lizard. Where skin should cover flesh, bones, and muscles, there is only what looks like leathery, worn out muscle coloured ashen grey. Its position on the ground is unnatural, and it jolts a chill through Louis’ body. Its entire leathery body is close to the ground, as if doing a sort of plank, sharp claws where fingernails should be. Louis’ observation goes through his mind but it doesn’t register, not really. His mind is just like his body, useless and frozen. He can’t do more than gape helplessly.

It raises its head in the air, sniffling soundly through two nostrils that are not attached to a nose but to the flat bone of its head. Its snake-like tongue darts out quickly as it lets out another threatening hiss. 

Red eyes bounce from Harry on the ground, to Louis, then from Louis back to Harry. 

Everything inside Louis’ screams at him to turn and run for his life, while his heart protests, telling him that he can’t leave Harry behind. His inner chaos is ignored because his body is not functioning. At all. 

No matter what move he might make, it would be the wrong one. Nothing is certain. Anything could happen. 

The silence is deafening. 

The wait is pure torture. 

Harry doesn’t move, neither does Louis. 

Then it happens, and it happens fast. 

The thing jumps forward, leaping off the ground and landing on top of Harry, who yelps helplessly as it wraps its muscled body around him like a snake would to strangle its prey. Its long claws cling to Harry as they both roll over the earthy ground. They are a mess of limbs, and the sound of ripping skin echoes in Louis’ skull. 

Harry screams endlessly. He screams, screams, screams, and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t. The noises cut through the air like a sword. 

And then, Louis shakes out of it. Before his brain can process what he is fucking doing, he lunges forward and kicks the heel of his bare foot at the monster's head with all the strength he can muster. It doesn’t have the desired effect though, because instead of letting up from Harry, it hangs even more tightly to his body. It growls threateningly and rolls them even further away from Louis, who dashes after them, going for another kick. 

Harry is still screaming, screaming, screaming, and Louis has no idea what to do. He has no weapon and this is a fucking mess and he is scared and he wants his mum — 

With a yell of his own, Louis jumps on the back of the monster. He wraps his arms around its neck before bending backwards with his full upper body strength. The creature’s spine gives a crack, and it growls and hisses, but Louis manages to bring the needed space between it and Harry for Harry to scramble out from underneath it. 

The monster snaps after Louis, mouth hanging open to attack, white teeth gleaming in red and breath foul and sickening. Louis squeezes its neck more tightly. The skin feels cracked under his palms and is hot to the touch. Louis uses his knee to try and break its back or something, digging it deep into its bones, but apparently its body is flexible. All Louis can feel is hard, unyielding muscle. 

The monster throws Louis off with one forceful shake of its body, and Louis collides with the dirty ground, hitting his chin in the process. The fall causes his mind to explode and go all over the place, dizzy and hazy. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the final bite. It’s over. His body is throbbing and he can’t move. 

But the bite doesn’t come. There are no claws digging into his skin, nor foul breath hitting his nose. Instead, over the rushing of his ears, he picks up the sound of hissing and snarling. When he flutters his lashes open weakly, he sees the monster retreating and something big flying after it, hitting it on the shoulder, urging it on to go faster. And then it’s gone, slipping in between bushes. 

Louis whimpers, only realising now that the adrenaline is wearing off that the thing got a good grip on him too. His bare legs sting with scratches, and blood warms his skin. He whines through his nose, but ignores everything in favour of getting off the ground and stumbling to a stand. He sways a little to the left, his mind going in circles, and then he sways a bit to his right. From head to toe, he feels like he went through a beating — from ten very strong men, at least. 

"Are you," Louis holds his throbbing forehead, "are you okay?" He erupts into a violent coughing fit. 

Harry doesn’t answer.

Harry isn’t okay. Louis realises it suddenly, shock hitting him full on once again. 

Harry is coloured in a sickly red from top to bottom. There is _so_ much blood. Louis might faint. Harry sinks sideways against the nearest trunk, hand pressed flatly to his waist. 

"Fuck, no," Louis says, stumbling over to him on shaky feet. "No. No. No. Harry…" 

Harry’s jumper is ripped to shreds. That’s all Louis can see until Harry takes his hand away from his side to reveal a wound, big, fresh, red, and leaking and fuck — no, no, no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. 

"Harry," Louis whimpers, looking up at the sweating, pale man. 

Their eyes lock. Louis’ own fear is reflected back at him like a warning sign. Harry clenches his jaw, letting out a noise of utter pain. For a moment all Louis can hear is Harry’s stuttering breath and his own heartbeat. 

“Lou…” Harry whispers and reality slams back into Louis at once. 

This isn’t over. 

"We should go." It hurts to say it, but they are still in a very dangerous zone and that thing could attack at any given moment. Louis doesn’t think he has the strength to fight it off again. "Let’s go," he murmurs, draping Harry’s arm over his shoulder and carefully looping an arm around his waist, minding the wound. He resolutely ignores the blood that gets all over himself, mixing with his own. "Let’s go," he repeats, firm although he feels anything but confident right now. 

"I… gosh, fuck, it hurts," Harry murmurs, leaning his full weight heavily onto Louis. 

"I know, I know." Louis can see that it hurts, but he doesn’t know how to help. "We can make it," he says reassuringly — at least he tries to be reassuring because _holy shit, holy fucking shit_ , they were just fucking attacked and how is this real? Louis whimpers at the thought and tries to quicken their steps. He ignores the warmth that drips onto his hands and soaks through the sleeves of his hoodie, and tries desperately not to concentrate too much on his own injuries which twinge with each step. 

They are going to die in the woods.

No. They won’t.

Oh, but they will. 

No. 

_No_. 

Louis just met Harry. He won’t let a monster take him away from him yet. 

Never, if he can help it. 

"So, you… you graduated u-university?" Louis murmurs into the night air, can’t quite get himself to stop stuttering. His heart is working in overdrive and everything feels like too much to handle. He needs a distraction, something… anything. 

Harry makes a little noise. 

"Di-did you enjoy it?" 

"Hm." 

"Hm — yes? Hm — no?" 

"Yeah…" Harry whimpers quietly. 

"Okay, that’s good," Louis says, breathy. "Any museum would be lucky to have you," he says. Then they fall back into silence because God knows Louis’ brain is turning slowly to mush. His legs sting each time he sets his foot down. 

"Lou," Harry whispers, "I have to…" He doesn’t get the words out, instead bending forward, twisting his body away from Louis, and opening his mouth. 

Vomit splashes everywhere and Louis jumps as some sprinkles onto him. 

Harry groans, holding his side as he spits several times. "This is bad," he says with a flat voice that doesn’t fit the situation in the slightest. 

Louis chokes on a strangled, humourless laugh. "I’ll… I’ll say." His vision blurs with franic tears and he goes to hold Harry again. "L-let’s go, Haz. We have to. We have to... to... keep moving. Y-Yeah?" 

"If that thing wanted us dead, we would be," Harry says softly, but he takes a step towards Louis and lets himself be led down the road. They aren’t on a clear path, and each noise they hear makes them both flinch. 

They have to stop three times in under ten minutes for Harry to vomit again. It’s mostly the water he drank before going to bed, but throwing up isn’t a good sign. It never is. Louis worries that his body is giving up, so he clings to Harry tighter, urging him more fiercely to keep moving.

"Shit," Harry heaves after a while. "I can’t walk anymore." 

"That’s fine, totally fine…" Louis assures, though he doesn’t know if he’s addressing Harry or himself, "maybe it ran off…" 

"Just a second," Harry promises, folding himself into Louis’ embrace. He makes his tall body smaller, tucking his nose in the space where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder. His body is shaking against Louis, and painful moans fall from his lips, each noise stabbing Louis’ heart right through the middle. 

"Let's sit down," Louis suggests. It’s reckless to stay in one spot, but Harry clearly can’t go on anymore. He is still bleeding, for fuck’s sake. "Let’s sit, c’mon." 

Carefully, Louis helps Harry lay on the ground, his head bedded in Louis’ lap. He is ashen and drenched in sweat and blood alike. Louis’ fingers tremble as he brushes Harry’s curls off his clammy forehead and tucks them behind his ears. 

"Your ears are tiny," he comments, tracing from his earlobe to his ear shell. 

"So I’ve been told," Harry murmurs on a thin exhale, eyes closed and lips barely moving. 

"You can’t sleep, baby." It hurts to say, but it’s true. Taking a nap now could be the last thing either of them will ever do. "We have to get going again in a second." 

"Can’t." 

Louis’ heart squeezes. "We have to."

Nobody is going to look for them, is the thing. 

"Hmm, my phone," Harry mumbles. 

Louis’ insides do a backflip and he stills completely. "Where?" 

"Tent."

"Goddamnit." Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Told mum." 

"What?" Louis blinks down, wiping away stubborn tears. "You told her _what_?" 

"She’ll know." 

"How?" Louis urges, praying to God that he is right.

"Promised," Harry turns his head, his nose nudging into Louis’ leg. 

"Harry, what? What did you promise your mum?" 

"To text every day." 

Hope blooms in Louis’ chest, the wheels of his brain kickstarting into full gear. "What if you don’t?" he asks slowly. 

"She’ll know," he repeats, and this time Louis gets it. They just have to make it through… what, the following day? What if she brushes her concerns off? Louis knows he would do that if he were her. He would think it was probably nothing, that Harry simply forgot, that there was no reason to worry. Shit. 

Maybe they are still fucked. 

So, so, so, so _fucked_. 

Louis starts crying again, or perhaps he never stopped crying at all, but he can’t help it, not really. A monster is after them, Harry is injured, and there is so much fucking blood everywhere. It warms his legs, seeps through his clothes. 

A finger pokes his cheek and Louis blinks a few tears out of his eyelashes. 

"Sh, we’ll be fine," Harry murmurs, but — 

They won’t be. 

They are going to die.

"You’ll be fine," Harry corrects himself with a whine, his face screwing in pain. 

"This isn’t a horror movie, Haz," Louis says, his voice thick and his throat swollen, "you said so yourself. If you’re suggesting that I leave you behind or some bullshit, I’ll —" he cuts himself off, not knowing how to proceed. 

"You’ll what?" 

Louis isn’t sure, but if he were to leave Harry behind, Louis wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

Who the hell said it would be a great idea to go camping? How in the world is it just their luck to discover the only ever forest haunted by a monster? What have they ever done to deserve such an ending? Why would - 

He stops himself right there. 

"We’ll make it out of these woods, I promise. This is _not_ a horror movie," Louis says pressing a kiss to Harry’s sweaty forehead. "Rest for a while, love, but stay awake…" 

"Hm…"

*** * ***

They do start walking again, step by step. It’s slow, but the point is that they are moving and that is what counts. The problem is that even in daylight, Louis’ orientation is way off. Neither of them has any idea where they are or where they are going. At least they can see better now, and Harry’s bleeding stopped an hour ago, give or take. He lost a lot of blood and is weak on his feet, needing Louis for support, but fortunately he is still alive and breathing. 

"I think we should turn around," Louis huffs after what feels like hours. 

"I don’t know," Harry murmurs, digging his fingers deeper into Louis’ waist and straightening his back. Louis releases a little breath of relief as the weight is lifted off of him. Harry is tall and although he is skinny and lean, carrying half of his dead weight up and down hills is exhausting in the hot sun. 

"I think we are going deeper into the forest…." Louis points in the direction they are currently walking in. "I really think we should go back, try to locate our tents and then go from there. I have a map, you have a phone." It’s smart, isn’t it? It’s the only thing Louis can think of, honestly. It feels like their only option. 

"What if—" 

"Harry,” Louis cuts him off, “that thing can attack us _no matter_ where the hell we are." Louis wipes a hand over his clammy forehead. "You’re hurt, and I’m tired. We are lost." 

After a moment of clear hesitation, Harry gives in. “Okay.” 

"Okay," Louis echoes and they turn, walking back in the direction they came from, step by step, slowly creeping forward.

The thing hasn’t shown up since the attack and it kind of worries Louis. It could easily have taken them both, he is aware of that fact. It has claws and teeth, and — 

Red eyes.

Just the thought of it peering at him with its bizarre red eyes stirs unease in Louis’ belly. 

"Do you think…" Louis nibbles on the inside of his cheek. "Do you think it’s that… legend?" 

"What?" Harry frowns.

"That legend, the one you told me about. D’you think it’s… that experiment?" 

It’s the only explanation. It’s not a _normal_ animal that just lives in the woods — that much Louis knows for sure. It had a human-like body, but completely transformed to something inhuman. 

"Huh," Harry blinks. "I—" he stops himself, swallowing hard, "I don’t want to believe that."

Louis makes a little noise in agreement, and then they walk for a few minutes in silence, each hanging in their own haze of thoughts. Louis’ stomach grumbles and he winces. Not only is he exhausted and hungry, but his throat is as dry as a desert. If they can’t find their way back to the tent or out of the woods, it looks really fucking bad for them no matter if that thing comes back or not. 

Nothing that crosses his mind makes it past his lips, though. He doesn’t want to worry Harry further. Besides, he is sure the other man is painfully aware of their predicament himself. Neither of them has to point out how bad it is. That would make it all too real. 

After a while, everything starts looking the same, even in the daylight. With each minute passing, Louis’ heart sinks lower and lower… and lower. 

*** * ***

The midday sun beams down on the napes of their necks. It’s hotter than Louis ever thought possible, maybe because he is severely dehydrated or because they are still in the middle of the woods, walking and walking and _walking_. Whatever the reason, it is fucking hot out and Louis is sweating under the layer of his hoodie. There is still no hope in sight, nothing that could give them a hint whether they are walking in the right direction or not. 

"Wait a second," he says, supporting Harry in a proper stand as he takes his hoodie off. He quickly ties it around his waist and then holds out his arm to prompt Harry to lean back against him. Harry folds in on himself so his head fits on Louis’ shoulder and his arm wraps around his waist.

They don’t talk. There is nothing left to say. 

Every thought grows darker and darker. 

*** * ***

"We are lost," Louis says, closing his eyes. 

Helplessness spreads inside his body like a wildfire. 

"We are lost," Harry moans. 

It’s nearing evening. 

Everything looks just the same.

Louis wants to cry.

He doesn’t. 

They keep on walking. 

*** * ***

"I can’t do this anymore," Louis whimpers, feeling the start of a breakdown crawling up his spine. "We have to take a break." 

It’s nighttime now and they haven’t stopped once. Harry is holding up okay — well, as much as he can be with a cut open wound on his waist and no help, no food, no water, nothing. 

"Okay," Harry agrees tonelessly, and they sit on the ground. 

"We are going to die." Louis closes his eyes, burying his face in his dirty hands. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, staying eerily silent. 

They both know it, though. Harry doesn’t have to voice his agreement aloud. 

At this point it’s a fact and it would be naive to think otherwise.

They aren’t going to make it. Nobody is looking for them. Nobody knows. Louis is giving up. There is no hope left to be had. 

*** * ***

They fall asleep, because _obviously_ they did. It just kind of happened, the exhaustion finally taking its toll on them both, catching them in a moment of total weakness and pulling them under. 

Louis is the first to wake up, his mind fuzzy and his bones aching. His first reaction is to cry because they are still in the woods and no miracles occurred while he was out — like waking up and finding out it all was just a nightmare or something. He doesn’t cry though, no, he refuses to, grinding his teeth instead. 

Harry’s head is resting on his chest, very still. Louis hates himself a bit for it, but he checks Harry’s pulse on his throat. It’s weak, but it’s there, and Louis releases a shallow breath in relief. He starts brushing his fingers absentmindedly through Harry’s tangled and damp curls, gazing down at him and wondering what Harry is dreaming about. He wonders if his dreams are taking away any of his pain or if he is even dreaming at all. The rhythm of Louis’ fingers calms himself, and he exhales through his nostrils, blinking his bloodshot eyes slowly. 

It’s quiet around them. With the sun gone, so is the sticky heat. Where Louis was sweating before, now he is freezing his fucking balls off. 

He watches the sky between the trees, his eyelids heavy. Each time he blinks, it takes more effort to open his eyes again. He gets only snapshots of what is above him. 

Sky. 

Blackness. 

Sky. 

Blackness. 

Blackness. 

Blackness. 

Sky. 

Black— 

Sky. 

Sky. Sky. Sky.

Blackness. 

Sky.

Blackness.

Face. 

Blackness.

_Face_ — 

Louis startles with a gasp as a gruff, bearded face hovers over his. 

"You shouldn’t be 'ere," the man says. "You shouldn’t be 'ere." 

Louis is so relieved that his snarky remark of, _'trust me, we fucking know'_ is swallowed down. 

"Thank fuck," Louis groans, already close to tears, though this time tears of relief. "Oh thank God. You have to help us, sir. Please, we are so lost, and my friend is injured, please." 

"You shouldn’t be 'ere." 

"We know. We’re sorry," Louis says, shaking Harry’s shoulders. "Harry," he says to Harry, who is still sleeping soundly on his chest. "Harry, wake up. Please, love, wake up for me. We’re safe, we’re safe. We’ve been found." The overwhelming relief lessens the pain Louis had endured during the day and night, and when Harry opens his pretty eyes, Louis gives him a watery smile. "This gentleman is here to help us." 

"Huh?" Harry yawns, then winces. "Fuck, this still hurts like a bitch." He presses his hand to his side, pulling a twisted face. 

Louis gently helps Harry sit up. "Can you walk?" 

Harry nods weakly. He blinks up at the man, and just like Louis had before, he flinches. Louis recalls him from that morning at the lake, when this exact man stood on the shore, saying the same thing he is saying now. This time he looks less creepy and more like an angel. 

"Oh… uh, hello?" Harry says slowly, sending Louis a little look that Louis chooses to ignore. They can’t be picky, can they?

Louis jumps to his feet, ignoring the pain that shoots up his legs. 

The man eyes them, his expression unreadable. He is wearing the same lumberjack flannel from before with the same vest and the same dirty jeans. His blue cap hides his eyes as he looks down at Harry, not saying anything. 

"C’mon, up you go," Louis says, helping Harry to his feet and winding an arm around him for support. "Okay?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple.

Harry clears his throat. "Y-yeah." His eyes are still on the man. "Louis… I don’t think this is a good idea," he whispers as the man starts limping ahead. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Louis knows. He feels the same if he is quite honest with himself, however — 

"What other option do we have?" Louis whispers back. "As you said, this is real life not a fucking horror movie. We’re going to be fine."

The man checks over his shoulder to make sure that they are following him and Louis gathers all his remaining strength to give him a quick, strained smile. The smile feels wrong on his lips and falls the second the man looks away.

*** * ***

"Oh. Oh wow," Louis blinks owlishly at the cabin. "A house," he sighs in wonder. 

It took a long time to get to the cabin. Louis is shit at calculating so he doesn’t know how long exactly, but because Harry is weak and leaning on Louis for support and the man guiding them has a limp, it slowed them down by a lot. Plus, Louis feels a little bit of doubt in his bones that that man had led them in a circle for a while. He can’t be sure though, because everything looks the same to him.

The entire walk here, Louis had tried to shake off all his uneasy feelings. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Louis _swears_ the tree trunks have _faces_. It didn’t help that when Louis had voiced this to Harry, he felt the same and had agreed with a whispered, ‘me too’.

The most important thing is that they were proven wrong after all. They have actually made it to safety without dying. Louis can’t believe it, but obviously he isn’t going to complain that it seemed too easy. They were lost, hurt, hunted, and now here they are, standing in front of an _actual_ house with electricity, water, food, and hopefully a phone. 

The man unlocks the door and it opens with a creak. He doesn’t wait for them as he steps indoors, leaving the door ajar. A light is turned on which filters outside, illuminating the decaying porch. 

They hesitate for only a beat before stepping over the threshold and into the cabin themselves. 

"Fucking finally," Harry grunts. 

The cabin smells bad; it feels sticky and too hot inside. That is the first thing Louis notices. The heavy scent of the forest, burned wood, and embers hang in the air, plus something else that Louis can’t identify. Perhaps he doesn’t want to. 

The cabin is as small as it looks from the outside, mostly one large room. It’s made out of wood, from the creaking floorboards to the walls to the ceiling, everything. This is not actually a surprise, of course, seeing that it is a cabin in the woods, but still. There is a fireplace - which Louis finds risky seeing how much wood is around - but it’s not currently lit anyways. Still, Louis can tell by the smell that the embers must have only died an hour or so ago.

A worn out, rotting couch stands in front of a television that looks like it was bought in the nineties. Next to the couch is a sunken armchair coloured egg yellow. The dark walls are decorated with pictures showing landscapes, the forest, and the lake. A green rug builds an ugly contrast to the floorboards and looks stained and dirty. A chest drawer is to Louis’ left, and a door leading presumably to the kitchen is to his right. 

The man disappears through said door without so much as a muttered word. 

He’s a quiet one. Louis had even tried talking to him on the way to the cabin, rambling on to fill the tense silence. But he only got grunts in acknowledgement and every time the man’s black eyes locked with Louis’, a chill zipped from the top of his head to his toes. It didn’t help Louis shake off his unease regarding the man. That morning at the lake, when the man yelled at them to leave, still lingers in his mind. 

Harry had voiced his concerns here and there about the bloke as well, but Louis had tried to ignore him. It would only put more worries in the pit of his stomach, and really, their choices were either to go with the man or be eaten alive. 

Louis guides Harry to the couch, gently helping him to sit. He ignores the dirty spots on the cushion, which look like stains of red wine. Harry sighs in relief. He rolls his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes tightly. "Thank you, Louis," he murmurs.

"Don’t mention it," Louis frowns at him, eyeing his wound. His gaze snaps back up to Harry’s pale (oh, so goddamn pale) face. 

"Still…" Harry gives a little shrug, his eyelashes fluttering open only halfway. He lifts his arm to catch Louis’ thumb and squeezes weakly. “Thank you.” 

Louis swallows around nothing, his throat swollen and dry. He squeezes Harry’s fingers in return, acknowledging his words in a silent manner. 

They made it. Everything is going to be fine. Louis can’t wait to leave the forest behind. He will happily never come back here, _ever_. Louis is sure they are going to bury this surreal experience in a box that they won’t open until they are old and grey. Only then they’ll tell the story to their grandchildren, scaring them away from ever camping alone in the woods. Maybe they will even have a laugh about it. Right now Louis doesn’t feel like laughing, though. Harry’s wound still needs medical attention and he fears that by the time they set foot in a hospital it will already have gotten infected. 

The man returns to the living room, his heavy footsteps bringing Louis out of his spiralling thoughts. He has taken off his vest, now only wearing the dirty flannel. He places two mugs in front of them on the small coffee table which, like everything in here, is in need of a good cleaning. The man grunts, waving an impatient hand toward the steaming mugs. 

"Oh, thanks. Thanks so much," Louis says hastily. 

He stares at Louis, his expression set into something unreadable and borderline haunting. Maybe he isn’t used to having company. Louis is certain that life in the forest would get lonely at times. Even just the past two days have shown Louis that. He wonders briefly why this bloke is living alone so far away from society. Louis had fucked off into the woods when his mum’s house became too crowded; perhaps the man did the same and just never returned to his old life? Louis shakes his head to clear his thoughts. It’s not his place to judge. To each their own, innit. 

Louis takes the offered mug with a smile that is unsurprisingly not returned. The tea smells strong and tastes the same. Louis is just glad to have something to drink. Plus, the hot water warms him from the inside out. In the last few hours the temperature outside had dropped even more, leaving his fingers and toes ice cold. He gulps the hot tea down too fast, too greedily. It scalds his throat, but he ignores the twinge in favour of being grateful that his thirst is partly quenched. When he’s done and his mug is emptied to the last fucking drop, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, giving a small sigh. 

The man (Louis really needs to ask for a name, but so far the lad hasn’t offered much information at all, so Louis didn’t bother) is still staring as Louis offers Harry the tea, helping him take a sip. Harry pulls a face in disgust at the taste and when Louis tries to get him to take another sip, he shakes his head weakly, closing his eyes and sinking further into the dirty sofa. 

"Later," Harry groans, massaging his temple. 

Louis wants to protest, to tell him that he needs water, but he doesn’t. Instead, Louis clears his throat, rubbing awkwardly below his nose and tugging on the hem of his shirt as he asks, "Could we… uh, perhaps use your phone?" 

The man eyes him, then his gaze lands on Harry. "Wha’ 'appened to 'im?" 

"We were attacked," Louis replies, scratching his neck. "There is a creature in the woods, I don’t know… uh..." He doesn’t want to sound crazy, so he stops himself before saying too much. It all feels like a fever dream now in the safety of the cabin, indoors, away from the prying eyes and scary noises. 

The man doesn’t look at Louis, though. His stare is fixed on Harry as if glued.

Louis doesn’t like it, so he moves into his vision, blocking his view of Harry. He ducks his head with arched brows, successfully catching the bloke’s attention. "Could we _please_ use your phone?" 

The man blinks at him: once, twice, thrice. He looks like he didn’t understand the question, but just as Louis is about to repeat himself yet again, he grunts his usual grunt accompanied by a curt, reluctant nod. 

Louis’ chest heaves enough to give the man a smile. "Thank you so much," he says, and he means it. No matter how many ill feelings stir in his belly towards the odd man, he is so fucking relieved that he found them. The man jerks his head towards the door and Louis nods, following him into the kitchen.

It’s as small as the rest of the cabin, and very, very, very, dirty. That should come as no surprise, seeing the state of the cabin. But it’s the kitchen, and if Louis’ mum taught him anything it was to always keep the kitchen spotless. Louis hates cleaning but he has always followed his mum’s advice, trying to clean up after himself in the kitchen. He doesn’t ever leave even one plate to clean for the next day. His bedroom might be a fucking mess with dirty laundry everywhere, but not his kitchen. 

The scene is more than off-putting, but Louis tries to school his shock into something neutral and less repulsed as he takes it in. Smudged plates stack high on the worktop and in the sink. The rusted tap is dripping water. There is a rotten smell coming from the fridge, which looks like it’s been shut down. A substance that Louis can’t (and doesn’t want to) recognise pools in front of it. The tiled floor itself is just as dirty, dusty, and stained. Louis ignores an insect that zips over the tiles, and also ignores the mould on the wall. Never in his life has he seen a room so disgusting. 

Louis grinds his teeth, trying (and failing) not to breathe in too deeply. 

Through the window, Louis sees a back garden with a swing and a little greenhouse. There is an empty cage of sorts, built right next to the wall of the greenhouse. 

"Do you have dogs?" Louis asks absently, just to take his mind off the state of the room and fill the tense silence. 

The man doesn’t say anything. 

"Guess not," Louis says, glancing at him.

Again, his expression is dark and unreadable but his eyes are piercing. The man points to a phone hanging on the wall that reminds Louis of his childhood. It’s a phone though, so Louis doesn’t care if it’s older than even the landline his granny uses. Seeing the state of the kitchen and the cabin as a whole, he really shouldn’t be surprised that the phone is from another century.

The man exits the kitchen, giving him privacy. Louis hesitates, torn between going back in the living room to check on Harry and calling for proper help. He isn’t comfortable with Harry being alone with that man to be honest, not only because Harry has said time and time again that he gets bad vibes from that guy, but also because his need to protect Harry from the world itself is unbelievably strong although they have only known each other for three short days.

He hears Harry’s voice carry through the cabin and it gives him the needed push to lift the sticky as fuck (ew?) phone and push in the numbers that he (thankfully) knows by heart.

Exhale. 

_Beep…_

Inhale.

_Beep…_

Exhale.

_Be—_

"Hello, Jay speaking," his mother’s warm voice greets him.

Louis sinks against the wall in utter relief. He pushes his hand through his damp fringe, getting his hair out of his eyes as he breathes in the foul air and shudders an exhale through his mouth.

"Mum…" Louis whimpers, the stress, fear, and panic catching up to him at once, hitting him straight on. His vision blurs embarrassingly fast. "Mum!" he cries. "We are in the middle of nowhere, I have no idea where we are, I don’t have my phone. Harry is hurt, like _so fucking hurt_ . He needs to go to a hospital," Louis rambles without taking a second to breathe or slow down. Louis has to get it all off his chest in one go before he breaks down fully and can’t form coherent sentences. "I sent you my location a few days ago. I’m so, so sorry, mum. I swear I am, I just… please, _please_ you have to contact the police or something." His voice drops to a fearful whisper. "We were attacked." His eyes widen at the memory and his entire frame shakes, recalling the pain he felt as that thing scratched his legs open. "I —" 

"Louis?" Jay interrupts, high-pitched. "Where are you? Who is Harry? What attacked you? Are you okay? Louis!" 

Louis gulps down much-needed air. He starts feeling light-headed from the chaos of emotions that stir and swirl in his stomach. The wall he is leaning against is the only thing keeping him upright. "Check your messages, I sent you my location," he repeats, slower this time - much slower. His tongue feels lazy in his mouth, dry and swollen. "Mum… police…" he gets out with maximum effort. "I think…" 

"Louis!" his mother exclaims, panicked, "what is happening? I’ve got your location. _Charlotte_ ! Lottie! Call the police, right now. Do it. _No_. Call them. I’ll explain later just do it," she argues with Lottie. Their conversation sounds far away and not only because they are on the phone and his mum is indeed a distance away from him. 

Louis’ eyes droop. He is _so_ tired. "Mum…" 

"The police are on their way, alright, baby? Hold on tight, stay on the phone with me. Talk to me - who is Harry? What is happening? What attacked you?" 

"Mum," he says again, his mind going fuzzy. His eyelids open and shut slowly. "I think…" 

"Yes, yes, hun, what do you think?" 

Louis’ bones weigh a ton. He groans. "Drugged." 

The phone slides out of his hand. 

He blacks out. 

*** * ***

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, his senses wake up. Noises, sounds, and sensations trickle back into his consciousness one by one. 

He hears the ringing of bells, but that can’t be right. Did he enter the gates of heaven already? Did he wake up at his own fucking funeral? What the fuck is going on? 

He would know if he could open his eyes, but his eyelids are too heavy. They only flutter weakly when he tries, giving him no chance to take a look at his surroundings. 

The next thing that springs to the forefront of his mind is that it’s cold, very cold. He sucks in a deep breath through his nostrils which balloons his stomach — the air is clear and fresh, not foul and sticky. He must be outside, then. 

The ground is hard, unforgiving on his bones. As he tries to move — just a little wiggle — he finds that he can’t. He can’t. 

The bells stop and Louis’ heart skips several beats in fear and confusion.

"Lou…" he hears. It’s a hoarse whimper, but it’s enough to unleash the panic bottled up inside of his chest.

His eyes rip open, and he blinks around. He tries to clear his vision, but there isn’t really too much to see. 

He finds that he is, indeed, outside, the darkness and coldness making that evident. Louis shivers as the wind pulls on his body and licks at his exposed skin. He swallows around the lump in his throat and sniffs wetly. His nose is running and a warm substance drips out of it, catching on his bottom lip and sliding down his chin. He licks his lips on reflex and freezes as a metallic taste explodes on his tongue. Louis cringes. Yes, Louis is very much sure that it’s not snot but blood. Oh God. Oh Lord. 

What the fuck happened? Where the fuck is he? 

"Louis, Lou…" 

He turns his head toward the sound. A shocked gasps tumbles from his lips. 

Harry is sitting next to him, hunched over, and… 

And.

_And_ — 

Tied up, as in, his hands and ankles are bound with transparent cable ties. It looks like something straight out of Louis’ worst nightmares, and it sends a full-body shiver down his spine. 

Louis’ gaze shifts to his own arms, and sure enough, he isn’t in any better off, also tied up. He didn’t notice before because he quite literally can’t feel his arms. A fuzzy numbness has spread through his bones and the same feeling shoots through his legs. He can’t even wiggle his toes. The ties are so tight that they stopped the blood flow. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck is going on? 

Louis’ throat is wracked by a sudden, unstoppable sob. The sound is broken and strangled and so full of panic it breaks his own fucking heart. He blinks rapidly, panic coursing through his body. His chest rises and falls quickly, but he feels as if an invisible rope is winding around his ribcage and tightening the more he tries to gulp down air. He becomes light-headed again and even as he tries to squirm on the ground, the ties don’t budge one bit. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

No. No. No. No. No. No. 

Louis sobs again and again. 

He feels like screaming, like dying. His heart is beating so fast that it might just take off and leave his body behind as an empty, lifeless shell. What happened? What is going on? Is he having a stroke? 

No. No. No. 

Louis clenches his jaw, trying to calm himself down. He holds air in his lungs while he counts to ten, then he releases an exhale slowly through his opened mouth until the tightness pressuring his sternum lessens and his mind is slowly filtering in more than his running, panicked thoughts of _‘fuck’_ and _‘no’_ and _‘I’m going to die’_. 

"Shh, shh, Louis, shh..." Harry says from his side, as if that is going to help, but Louis appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Louis is glad to hear the sound actually, to see with his own eyes that Harry is still alive and not... and not — 

Fuck. 

Just fuck. 

There is no proper relief in the knowledge that they are still alive because, seeing that they are indeed tied up, it means that this fact is going to change very soon. 

"What…" Louis sniffs. More blood drips out of his nose, but this time he also tastes snot. He jerks his head to the side, rubbing his nose roughly on his hoodie. "What happened?"

Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness and he has calmed down, he can see a little bit better. There is a dark spot on Harry’s forehead which could be hair but Louis suspects otherwise. "Harry…" he coaxes brokenly, voice small. 

"I don’t know," Harry whispers back carefully, his eyes bloodshot. "I have no idea. You went... you went into the other room and —" he cuts himself off, starting to shake. "I… that man came back and he…" 

"What, Harry, what?" Louis urges, brows pushed together. 

Harry lowers his gaze. "He punched me. I had no… I just blacked out." 

"Fuck me," Louis shuts his eyes, feeling so utterly helpless. He wants to cry again but he holds it back. Tears won’t do shit. "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the _fuck_?" 

"Yeah…" Harry sniffs loudly. "I’m so sor—" 

"Don’t, just don’t. This isn’t your fault. It’s not either of our faults," Louis snaps. He wriggles, straining his wrists against the ties with a grunt as the ties cut into his flesh. It hurts and he grinds his teeth in burning agony.

His bindings don’t loosen, not even slightly. The ties are wrapped snugly around his wrists and looped through a hook attached on the brick wall, high up and unreachable. They are in the cage that Louis previously spotted from the kitchen window, the one he had innocently assumed was made to keep dogs in. Perhaps if he had taken a closer look, if he would have taken just a second to think… 

He gives up.

"I’m never going camping again," Harry cries. It’s all so fucking absurd and bizarre that Louis huffs a sad chuckle.

"Yeah, never again," Louis agrees with a heavy, sinking heart. "Your sister was right, camping sucks." 

"Gemma…" Harry whimpers, dropping his head against the brick wall that they are attached to. 

"Shh," Louis shushes, "don’t…"

If Harry starts thinking about his family, Louis will too and that can’t happen. They are not dead _yet_ . They both are going to see their families again. They will. Louis has to see the twins grow up, has to fight off any boyfriends that Lottie and Fizzy bring home, has to teach his brother cool football tricks. He is not — and he repeats — _not_ going to die because a wild, crazy man captured them in the middle of nowhere. No. 

Just, ugh, no. 

He isn’t ready to leave this world unemployed, with dreams unlived. 

"Fuck," Louis spits the word out, stopping the thoughts that are rushing through his mind. "Just, gosh." He bangs the back of his head against the wall repeatedly. 

"We are fucked, aren’t we?" Harry mumbles.

Louis rolls his head until he can give Harry an unimpressed look. "You think?"

Harry glares at him, opening his mouth, but Louis cuts in before he can snark back. 

"Let’s not fight. I’m sorry," Louis murmurs. "I’m sorry, I’m just so fucking—" scared, helpless, stupid, stupid, stupid. 

They both knew something was odd about that man, Harry even more so than Louis. They should have gone with their guts. Come to fucking think of it, they should have left the first night after Louis started hearing noises, or the morning when they found his tent in nothing more than shreds. Yeah, at least then they could have listened to the unease in their bodies, packed their shit, and gotten the fuck out. Now look at them, captured, helpless, probably left to die in a fucking cage, out of all places. It doesn’t look good. Louis has never felt so fucking hopeless in his life. 

Harry nods, biting down on his bottom lip. "Me too." 

They sit in silence after that. There is nothing left to discuss. It would just make everything worse, Louis reckons. 

Louis tries and fails to loosen his ties. No kick with his tied-together legs can bring any air between his skin and the cables. They are so fucking tight. There is absolutely no way to get them off. 

Louis’ eyes bounce around the cage and then his gaze falls into a corner. His breath hitches in his throat and a coldness freezes his frame once more. Because in that corner are bones, too large and thick to belong to an animal. 

The bones are cleaned of any flesh or blood. Flies buzz around it despite the late hour. Louis tears his gaze away from it, instead staring out between the squares into the garden, trying to make out anything that could help them or hint at what is going to happen next. The garden itself doesn’t have much to see, per se. There is only the swing that Louis had spotted from the kitchen window, and trees which enclose the garden and offer a natural fence in a way. The grass is illuminated dimly by yellow light which spills from a window (the one in the kitchen?) of the cabin. Just as Louis is about to let his eyes wander again, he is stopped by a movement behind the glass. He frowns deeply. 

"What do you think this all means?" 

"Cannibalism," Harry deadpans. It’s not funny at all, but Louis guesses Harry wasn’t joking anyways.

Louis gulps at that. He hadn’t even allowed his thoughts to wander in that disturbing direction yet. But it could be though, couldn’t it? Louis rips his gaze away from the window and lets his eyes droop to his lap instead. His thighs are safe to look at. 

"I talked to my mum…" Louis starts, licking his swollen lips, "she knows. The police know, too." At least Louis hopes so. Of course he doesn’t believe for a second that his mother would lie to him, but what if the police have their doubts? Louis has seen not only horror movies that are based on people’s disturbing fantasies but he has also watched a good amount of true crime cases on YouTube. Sometimes the police are lazy or dubious when a person over eighteen goes missing. But their case is different, is it not? Louis had called his mother and told her to get help. There is no room to dismiss that. It’s clear that neither Harry nor Louis had just run off. He can’t remember if he told his mother Harry’s last name. Harry’s family must be worried too. 

"Good, so there’s a chance. It’s not hopeless.” 

No it’s not. If they hurry the fuck up. 

Louis stays quiet. It’s obvious that neither of them wants to die. The general reply of, _‘I hope so’_ goes unsaid. It’s not hopeless, but he doesn’t know how much time has passed since he made that call to his mother. Everything has blurred together in one big black picture. He thinks it was late evening when they made it to the house and he was able to get to the phone. How long was he passed out though? Hours, probably. If it’s been hours, shouldn’t the police already be here? 

Louis slowly releases air through his mouth into the silence of the night. The only sounds are the hoo-hooing of an owl up in a tree and the rustling of leaves in the wind. It’s eerie. The longer the silence stretches, the more the little hope inside Louis wilts away. 

The man doesn’t come out of his house, not once. He seems confident that neither of them can escape their ties. What is he doing? Watching telly? Having a beer? Eating a late dinner? All while he has two men caged and tied up? Jesus. 

Time drags on. Seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours. Neither of them utters so much as a word, both too scared to voice their darkening thoughts aloud. It feels like it’s close to midnight or even later, although there really is no way to tell the time. At this point, Louis’ entire body is throbbing with a sizzling numbness from the ties and he fears that his limbs are going to fall off.

After a while, he sneaks a glance at Harry and sees that his company has his eyes shut, his chin tucked to his slowly rising and sinking chest. 

"Harry," Louis wiggles a bit closer to him. He doesn’t get far, and the ties cut deeper into his skin. He doesn’t think it’s a good sign that Harry has randomly nodded off. "Haz. Harry. H." 

"Hmpf?" 

"Don’t sleep. Don’t sleep now…" Frankly, Louis is also scared to be alone. 

Harry lifts his head, eyes unfocused. "I think my wound started leaking again." 

And sure enough, with a reluctant glance downward, Louis can confirm that Harry is right. A worrying puddle of blood pools on the ground, dark and growing. 

"Fuck," Louis winces.

They both had a bad feeling about the man; Louis should have known better than to go against his gut. But he was desperate. Harry was (is) hurt and what options did they have left? To come across another soul in the middle of nowhere was a curse disguised as a blessing. Louis wants to kick himself. It will be his fault when Harry dies - well, not completely but… you know.

"I’m so sorry," Louis whispers, yearning to reach out and comfort him. After all, Harry was the one who would always comfort him when he couldn’t sleep. Louis wants to wipe the tears off Harry’s cheeks, hold his hand, and promise him to think of a plan. However, his mind is blank. There is no plan. 

They are tied up. In a cage. In the middle of the woods. With a crazy lunatic in the cabin. And a monster lurking behind trees. 

It’s utterly hopeless. Louis sees and feels that now more than anything. He cries silently as Harry falls back asleep. This time Louis doesn’t wake him up. Maybe it’s better if Harry dies now than from whatever this man has in store for them. 

The police aren’t coming for them. There is no help. They are left at the mercy of the man. 

A bell rings as the backdoor swings open, and Louis guesses that he is going to find out what is coming next sooner than he’d like.

*** * ***

The man opens the door of the cage, ducking his head and staring at Louis dead on, expressionless. Louis presses his spine and shoulders further away into the brick behind him. 

"Please," Louis whimpers, tears warming his cold cheeks, "please, please just let us go, please." 

The man doesn’t move his head. His black beetle eyes drag over to Harry, scanning his body and staring at the puddle of blood on the ground. 

"Please, I can…" He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t offer money - his family isn’t rich. His mum has to work overtime at the hospital to make ends meet. Louis is unemployed and he has no clue how well off Harry’s family is. Perhaps that doesn’t matter anyway. "I can…" he repeats desperately, but nothing comes to mind. A hiccup pushes up his throat. 

The man shakes his head just as Louis thought he would, but it still makes Louis’ shoulders slump, as much as they can with his arms twisted upward.

The man goes to grab Harry’s ankles. 

"Don’t touch him," Louis snarls as if he can do anything, wiggling pathetically on the ground. "Don’t fucking touch him, you fucking git, you fucking —" he huffs, his lungs running out of air. 

The man slaps his feet away from where they had wiggled into his line of view and steps fully into the cage with them, hunched over so he doesn’t hit his head. He unclasps the hook that Harry is tied to and Harry sags to the side like a lifeless doll, hitting the hard ground with a thud and a rustle of his clothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t stir, doesn’t make even the slightest of sounds. 

"Don’t." Louis tries to kick out again and gets absolutely nowhere with it. "Leave him, please. Take… take _me_." 

Louis is ignored though, and the man drags Harry out of the cage by his feet. Louis watches helplessly as he puts him in the middle of the grass and claps his hands together to get rid of dirt or blood or whatever. Fuck, Louis really doesn’t want to notice it but he does anyway, gulping as he spots a trail of blood from where the man dragged Harry’s motionless body over the ground. Sickness overcomes Louis in an instant and he swallows several times, working against the bile that creeps up his throat. His vision goes fuzzy as the man comes back to get him. He tosses and turns, tries to hook his fingers into something to stop him, but of course it doesn’t work and he is moved next to Harry. 

Louis wiggles his body until he is sitting upright. That doesn’t last very long though. The man glares at him and kicks his chest so harshly that Louis’ back hits the ground in a split second. All of the air is knocked out of his lungs in a whoosh, leaving him breathless and gasping at the night sky. 

There are no stars. 

The man moves into his vision, hovering over him like a demon of death. "You shouldn’t 'ave come 'ere," the man says what Louis has come to believe is his personal fucking _slogan_ , grunting his words.

Louis is convinced it’s the only fucking thing this man can say, honestly. He glares at the man as best as he can from his pathetic, helpless position on the grass.

"Should’ve stayed away," the man continues, drops of spit sprinkling onto Louis' cheeks and forehead. "My forest, my lake, my cabin." His upper lip curls to an angry snarl. "My _daughter_." 

Wait. 

Wait, _what_? 

"D-daughter?" Louis’ eyebrows draw together into one strong line, shaking his head slowly, thinking he’s mistaken and got it all wrong because — 

The man points to the direction of the forest, not taking his beetle eyes off Louis. "Daughter," he confirms with a curt nod. 

No. 

Oh, oh God, no. 

Louis doesn’t like this. He _so_ doesn’t like this at all. "What?" he whines, trying again to free himself with no success. 

"Daughter," he repeats, slower, patting his round stomach. "Gotta eat." 

The words ring through Louis’ mind. "What? What, no… oh no." Louis clenches his eyes shut. That can’t mean what he thinks it means, it just can’t. There is no way, absolutely no fucking way — 

The bell from earlier rings through the dead silent air and suddenly their environment isn’t just filled with their breathing and the rustling of leaves. No, no, no. There is also the sound of a raspy breath and shuffling, and no, no, no — 

_No. No. No. No._

Louis’ eyelashes flutter open and he rolls his head towards the direction of the sound, spotting the monster approaching on all fours from the line of trees at the far end of the garden, close to the ground. Its red eyes beam through the darkness, setting a fresh wave of cold and utter panic free inside Louis. In that moment, he knows. 

He knows. 

This is it. 

This is fucking _it_. 

_No. No. No. No. No._

"Daughter gotta eat," the man repeats, grunting. He looks pleased with himself for just a second as he turns to the monster himself. He shakes the bell again, and as the monster lurks even closer to them, he then turns and dashes into the safety of the cabin. He slams the door shut behind him, leaving Louis and Harry to their sealed fate. 

Louis’ face twists into a grimace of agony, tears rolling down from the sides of his eyes and down his temples.

It’s over. There is no help. No one came for them in time. 

With the last bit of courage left in his numb bones, Louis rolls his head toward the monster as it creeps closer, closer, and _closer_. Its thin tongue darts out and back into its mouth. It lifts its head, sniffing in the air like a dog. At this point, the rushing of blood in Louis’ ears is so loud it nearly drowns out every other noise around him. His heart has swelled to the size of his entire body, making his flesh pulse with fear as it beats rapidly. 

The monster cocks its head to the side, then to the other in a jerky, abrupt movement, looking like a reptile that is about to pounce. 

However, it doesn’t attack immediately. Instead, it lifts its head into the air, its tongue darting out and wiggling. It stays like that for a long moment, then trots on all fours around Louis, not even looking at him, and goes directly over to Harry’s unguarded body.

A panic stronger than before courses through his veins and overpowers the fear he has for himself. Louis wiggles again like a fish on land, rolling his body closer to Harry until their sides nudge together. Louis doesn’t know what the fuck he is doing, his mind a blank void. The only thing he knows is that he has to protect Harry at all costs. 

Louis widens his eyes, staring at the monster that watches on, its head tilted as if curious. 

" _Don’t_ ," Louis growls, baring his teeth and maintaining eye contact until his eyeballs are so dry that they sting. The thing doesn’t move. "Don’t hurt him. Don’t touch him.” 

The monster bobs its head side to side, up and down as if it is listening. The motion reminds Louis of a bird, maybe. Fuck, Louis can’t describe it. His life is on the line. 

Then, its red eyes move upward and it freezes. 

Louis does too. There’s a new sound. 

Shouting. 

Someone is shouting. 

The thing looks over its shoulder to the cabin and lets out a displeased, angry growl. 

Louis holds his breath. 

There are voices. 

_Voices_. 

Louis is pretty sure. 

Please don’t let it be the telly — 

He can’t depend on that though. His hope is immediately back down the drain because as Louis looks at the monster again, its red eyes are already fixated on him. Shocked, Louis freezes and holds his breath. 

The monster opens its mouth, baring its far too many sharp teeth. Before Louis can react, it jumps, winding its arms and legs around his body. The force of the jump sends them rolling over the ground towards the forest. Louis’ mind spins and he clenches his eyes shut tight. 

They come to a halt, but Louis can’t move. He tries, he really does, pushing his knees into the monster’s stomach. He hits the ball formed by his tied hands on the monster’s head but it doesn’t have any effect. The monster is strong, made out of hard muscles. 

The monster stares down at him and Louis whimpers as it opens its mouth wide, a rotting breath unfurling in his nostrils. Before Louis can recover or move, its teeth sink into his skin, ripping through his flesh. A blinding pain shoots through his mind, through his body, through his soul. He screa— 

*** * ***

There is light surrounding him, engulfing his soul and swirling around him like translucent smoke. Louis’ emotions are muffled by the numbness that spreads inside of him. He feels weightless, like he is underwater, but he guesses that is not true. There is no water, and yet he is floating somewhere warm and peaceful. 

Safe. 

That is what this feeling is: he is completely safe and content. No proper thoughts make it through his mind and no traces of pain cling to his body. Everything is just soft and cottony. Louis isn’t even sure if he has a body. Maybe he is just an energy field. 

Safe. 

Louis is floating, high up in the sky, feeling light and loose and warm. 

He wants to stay here, wherever here is. It’s safe, that much he knows. 

There is no pain, only lightness and warmth. 

Yeah, he wants to stay here…

* * * 

Louis doesn’t get to stay in the space of lightness and warmth, though. 

He is ripped out of it - or well, not ripped out of it, per se, but the point is, he is somewhere else, somewhere loud, with voices and sounds that overlap in his fuzzy, fried brain, making it ache. He wants to go back. 

In the space before, it was quiet. Now it isn’t and Louis frowns. He really hates it. 

He doesn’t wake up, but going back to heaven doesn’t happen either. 

* * * 

Disoriented, it takes an extended moment for Louis to understand that it’s not a grey sky with square clouds that he is looking up at, but an actual ceiling. After having spent so many days and nights without one, the concept of a ceiling seems foreign to him. Louis doesn’t know where he is though, nor how he survived. Then a realisation trickles in like fine sand and Louis is hit with the reality that even if he has survived, perhaps it’s not such a good thing. He might still be stuck in the cabin with that lunatic of a man. He’d rather be eaten alive by the monster than live another hour in the cage or in that bloke’s presence. 

_Fuck_. 

Louis can’t move, another thing that sets panic loose in his chest. It brings back the memory of being tied up, exposed and helpless. His ribcage tightens with a sucked inhale, and he can’t push the air back out. His ribs hurt and he feels a pressure like a rock on his sternum. His heart squeezes and tears blur his vision. 

His dry, cracked lips emit a strangled sound as his lungs refuse the air. His throat swells up as if he has swallowed an apple that is now lodging his oesophagus, the feeling reminding him of the time when he accidentally swallowed a bone and it got stuck on the way down. As a six year old little boy, he had been very sure he was going to die. Now the same fear stirs in his insides. He is going to die, whether from the teeth from the monster, the hands of the man, or choking on his own emotions. 

"Darling, shh, darling." 

Louis’ ears pick up the words faintly, coming from far away. There is too much chaos in his head for the voice to register. The words slip into his eardrums and slip out again. Louis cries, cries hard, can’t breathe, can’t seem to calm down. 

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe… 

"Louis, Louis, shh, I’m here. Mum is here, everything is fine. You’re safe, baby." 

Louis cries, cries, cries, cries… 

"Shh… baby." 

His eyes track the movement of a shadow and he flinches away from the blurry blob that his brain recognises as hand as more strangled sobs fall from his lips, leaving his body shaking and shivering.

"Oh dear," the voice gasps, "oh dear God." 

And then another voice is there, a voice that is deeper, much deeper. It sends a terrified chill down Louis’ body and he starts shaking even more violently. 

He knew it wasn’t over. It’s not over and he can’t move. Suddenly, he feels something sharp at his neck and — 

Blackness. 

Louis sighs, relieved to be robbed of all emotions and sensations once again. 

Dying will be easier this way. 

* * * 

The next time he wakes up, it goes more smoothly than the first time. 

He doesn’t start crying the second his eyes open and his brain has cleared out enough to process that he isn’t outside in the cage nor is he stuck in the cabin. The cabin walls were made out of strong, dark wood, and the ceiling had definitely looked the same. 

There is no foul smell clinging in the air, either. Instead he picks up a familiar scent that brings him back to his childhood when he would go to the hospital after school to pop by his mum on her shift and get lunch with her down in the cafeteria. It calms him instantly, which is a good sign, he thinks. Over the unnatural clean, medical smell, he also can smell his mum’s perfume. She has never changed it throughout the years, always using the same old, same old perfume and that is even a _better_ sign, isn’t it? 

Carefully, Louis rolls his head to the side, taking in the big windows that are the same in every hospital — not that he has ever spent much time as a patient in a hospital himself. But by the windows alone he can tell that he is _safe_ . Sure enough, he is laying in a bed with needles in his skin and a machine next to him tracking his heartbeat and pulse. The _beep, beep, beep_ is his favourite sound right now. 

It means that he made it out. He is away from the forest, the cabin, the monster… that man. 

Louis sighs and coughs right afterwards, coughing up a bitter substance that he swallows back down with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Louis isn’t in much pain, but he guesses that’s thanks to the bag hanging off a rack nearby. He watches with light fluttering of eyelashes as the drip, drip, drip of translucent liquid travels through a transparent tube into his body, making him wonderfully numb to any sort of pain. 

"Oh," a very familiar voice gasps, and then his mother’s beautiful face moves into his line of sight and he releases a big, relieved breath. She sits gently down on the bed, taking his hand in both of hers. Her hands are warm, and so are her eyes as she scans Louis’ face, a small smile pasted on her lips which quiver only a little with repressed emotions. "You’re awake, darling. How’re you feeling, baby?" 

Honestly, Louis doesn’t feel much. His body is numb from the painkillers inserted into his bloodstream and although he must have slept at least a few hours, he is still weighed down with exhaustion that stings behind his dry eyeballs. At least he is not panicking like before. 

"Dunno," Louis croaks weakly. 

"Oh, I was so worried, darling. So worried." She touches his cheek with soft fingers, and the smell of her perfume strengthens due to her wrist being so close to his nose. "Running off like that without saying anything." She shakes her head at him, but there is no tattling glint in her eyes, only concern and love. 

"What happened?" Louis asks because last time he checked, he was attacked by a monster and now he’s in a hospital. There is a good chunk missing out of his memory. 

"I contacted the police, hun. When I read off the location you sent me, they didn’t waste any time to send out a search party for you. They found you…" his mum trails off, glancing away. She inhales deeply. "I’m just glad you’re safe now. They arrested that awful man, honey." 

"What about the…" Louis catches his tongue between his teeth. He doesn’t want to say it. 

“The what?” his mum asks, eyeing him carefully. 

“The… that thing that attacked me?” 

“They arrested the man,” his mother repeats very slowly. “The police need a statement from you once you’ve gotten a few hours of sleep.” 

“No…” Louis protests weakly, “there was a monster.” 

His mother takes a deep breath, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “I think you’re a little bit disoriented,” she sighs. “Lord knows I’d be too. I was so worried —”

“No—” Louis interrupts more forcefully. “There was a monster with red eyes and, and...” he huffs, getting frustrated with himself and his inability to make sense. No wonder his mother is looking at him with even more concern than when he had just woken up. “It had claws and teeth!” he adds with a shaky voice, pointing to where his injuries are bandaged up. “Look!” 

“Honey…” Louis knows that tone, knows that look too well. She always had that same pitiful expression on her face from whenever he had a nightmare as a child. She doesn’t believe him. 

He gives up trying to convince her and instead lets her comfort him for a while. 

It doesn’t last very long, though. 

A face is pushed forward in his mind, green eyes and curly hair. Louis feels bad instantly, so bad that his stomach turns upside down and his heart breaks in two. 

Before he even has a chance to ask, he starts crying again, curling into his side as best as he can. 

"Oh no, what is it, sweetheart?" His mum starts stroking the side of his head, fingers brushing through his greasy hair. "What is it?" 

Louis can’t. He can’t bear the thought of him making it out while Harry did not. He couldn’t stomach it. So he doesn’t ask until his breathing is back under control, while his mum makes gentle shushing sounds that do only little for his heart that is ripping apart, piece by piece. But he has to ask, doesn’t he? At some point he is going to find out what happened to Harry, whether from the news or from somewhere else, the police perhaps. Louis would rather find out from his mum than anyone else. 

He sniffs a final time and blinks the remaining hot tears out of his lashes. He peers up at his mum with fear holding an iron grip on his racing heart. His mind is haunted by the last image he has of Harry, lying lifelessly on the ground, so pale, so fragile, scared and hurt and —

"H-Harry?" he chokes out hoarsely. "Where- where is… where is he?" 

His mother’s eyes sink and Louis closes his own. His jaw clenches as fresh pain explodes inside him. He brings his hand to his forehead, pressing down as his mind goes fuzzy and swirling. He is becoming light-headed again, feeling another sob build in his already lodged and swollen throat. 

Harry didn’t make it. 

Harry died. Harry died. Harry died. Harry died. Harry _died_.

His face twists. 

"No," his mum says, panicked, shocked at his reaction perhaps, "no, Louis he is alive! He is next door, and his parents are here too. Lovely people! He’s sleeping, and he’s lost a lot of blood, hun. _But_ he is going to make it through."

"And," Louis wails, hiccuping wetly, "you couldn’t have said that _first?_ " 

Jay presses a hand to his forehead, brushing his damp fringe out of his eyes. "I’m sorry, I… he was in such a bad state when they brought him in. His mum is out of her mind, understandably." She sighs; it’s a sad sound. 

"I wanna see him," Louis says, pushing his mum’s hand away. "Please, I need to fucking see him —" 

Gently but firmly, Jay pushes him back into the mattress. "You can’t go see _anyone_ right now, honey. You both need your rest. You were attacked, Louis. He isn’t the only one who lost loads of blood, okay? Take it easy, I don’t want your stitches to open up again." 

"But, but…" Louis protests weakly, recognising a lost battle when he sees one. 

"You can see him the second the lovely doctor says so, alright?" She kisses his sweaty hair, running a hand over his neck and down to his shoulder. "I’ll be right here, okay? Lottie and Fizzy took the kids for ice cream, so they should be back in a bit. But you need to rest now, so that we can take you home." She presses a final kiss to his cheek, brushing through his hair one last time. Then she stands up and wanders back to the uncomfortable looking chair standing with its twin pushed under a small, square table. On the table is a vase with flowers and a card. Probably from his granny. She loves to give tulips when someone is sick. Next to the vase lies a stack of magazines and a white plastic cup. 

Louis shuts his eyes, guessing the sooner he falls asleep, the sooner he’ll get to see Harry. 

*** 

It’s the middle of the night and although Louis is as tired as if he hasn't slept one night in his life, he can’t fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. No matter how many times he does his breathing exercise, his body refuses to go back to sleep. 

The day was pretty eventful, with the gaggle of his sisters (and, of course, his brother) crowding the small hospital room. After the relief of seeing him again had worn off, they made a million remarks on how stupid he was to just run off and camp in the woods, his mother scolding them for being tactless and hurtful. 

But in a funny way, Louis was glad for that. He also got a big cuddle out of it, and at least none of them were _truly_ crying. They were only a bit choked up and misty-eyed like himself, but there were no more tears. It made it easier to stomach. Louis couldn’t bear the thought of worrying his entire family and letting them think the last time they would have seen each other was when everyone was on each other's nerves back at the house. 

However, even after a full day of visits and a long talk with the police, Louis isn’t ready to sleep. 

Louis is terrified what he is going to see when he closes his eyes, honestly. Every attempt throughout the day was cut short by beetle eyes staring at him, or red gleaming ones leering at him from the corner of his room. 

The doctor had come for a check-in too, and told him what he already knew: he had lost lots of blood and his injuries - he has quite a few, actually - needed to be stitched. 

One is on his neck, which he feels more now that there are no distractions around. It's the wound from where the monster had gone for the kill. Another is on his ribs, plus his legs are scratched raw because he was wearing shorts. Thankfully his arms were protected by the sleeves of his hoodie. Small victories. However, he also has a big gash on his forehead from where the monster had headbutted him. 

Everything will heal in time, the doctor had said. Honestly, nobody needs a degree just to say something vague like that. Louis is going to have scars though. Apparently scars are unavoidable because his wounds were so deep, cutting into his muscle (but thankfully not breaking any bones). 

To be frank, Louis is just glad to be alive. It had looked helpless for a moment there with the thing going for his neck. He can still feel the utter pain that shot through his body as if he was hit by a lightning bolt. 

Louis shivers as phantom teeth bite down on his neck, rip through his skin, and sink into his flesh. 

He had told his mother again about the monster with no success. The police didn’t believe him either, disregarding his tale of red eyes and a lizard-like body due to the blood loss and the trauma he went through from being kidnapped and tortured. It’s frustrating. He feels like a child, trying and failing to convince the adults that a monster is under his bed. This time, however, the monster is very much real. He couldn’t have made this up. His imagination only goes so far. 

There are only two other people in this world that could back him up though. 

He worries his lip and rolls his head toward the window. He had asked the nurse to leave the blinds up with the curtains drawn open so that he could look outside. 

The moon is alone in the sky, no stars giving it company. Louis feels the same. He knows there are nurses rushing around on the night shift, and he is faintly aware of the other patients in nearby rooms, but right now he feels lonely. 

Harry is just next door but feels miles away. 

No matter how much he had begged the doctor to let him see Harry, he wasn’t allowed. The doctor, his mother, and the nurses are all in on it, having agreed that both boys need their peace and rest as long as possible. And Louis understands that, he really, truly does. But it’s Harry, the man he had spent the worst and most horrifying experience of his life with, the man he believed hadn’t made it for just a second there, and the man he can’t help but worry about. The image of Harry lying lifeless on the grass next to him with a leaking wound and blood everywhere is branded in his mind, presumably forever.

The only news he was able to get out of the nurse is that Harry is sleeping but stable enough to be released in the next few days from their care, which Louis concludes is a pretty good sign. He still worries though. He needs to see him with his own two eyes. His heart yearns for it, and his fingers crave to touch, just to poke his arm or something to ensure that they really both made it out alive (which he knows happened, obviously. It would be a cruel, unethical thing to lie to Louis so blatantly about something so huge. Still.) 

Not only can he not sleep because he is scared of what he is going to see when he drifts off, but also because his stomach is tied in an uneasy knot and his heart is pounding too fast for the late hours of the night. 

Louis tries to ignore it - really, he does, but the feeling only seems to grow. It blooms into something that cannot be ignored any longer as he stares with bleary eyes out the window. Checking on Harry is simply self-care, so that he can get a few hours of rest before the first check-in with the nurse at seven in the morning. Right? The doctor should have known that too, that it would be best for them to see each other just for a second, just to… 

A groan bursts out of him, loud and hoarse in the dead silent room. He sits up with aching bones, his neck throbbing and his legs screaming at him as he heaves himself over the edge of the bed. He sways a bit in place, his mind going dizzy for just a moment. Blood loss is a bitch. 

Carefully, he makes his way over to the door and inhales one last time before opening it and risking a peek outside. The lights are too bright, blinding him. His eyes had gotten used to the faint moonlight. He had believed that the hallways would be set in a nice little nightlight or something dim and easy on the eye. He was mistaken. It isn’t enough to stop him, though. Nothing could stop him now, having already gone through so much for the man next door. 

Louis checks up and down the hallway. He hears noises, muffled and quiet, but nobody is in sight. Louis takes that as his sign to go ahead. He is on a mission, and with each quick, careful step towards the door to his right, his heart starts beating faster and faster until his clammy hand grips the door handle. 

He hesitates, and it’s the worst time to have doubts, isn’t it? A nurse could come by at any second and, fuck, that’d ruin everything. But what if Harry is soundly asleep and Louis is about to wake him up because he’s being a selfish prick right now? What if Harry doesn’t want to see him? What if Harry has closed the chapter of what happened to them and wants nothing to do with Louis anymore because he is a part of it? What if Harry only sees Louis as a reminder of the worst days in his life?

Louis wouldn’t be able to bear being sent away and never getting to talk to Harry again. Before all that shit went down, Louis was so fucking glad to have gone camping (no matter the scary noises at night) and to meet Harry, truly. Neither of them could have known it would turn out the way it did, right? It’s not Louis’ fault, nor Harry’s either, obviously. But maybe Harry still regrets meeting him. 

There is, of course, only one way to find out what Harry is thinking and feeling. Standing frozen in front of his door isn’t going to help bring any peace to his mind, so it’s either going back and trying to fall asleep with worry eating away at him or building up a fence around himself and taking whatever is going to happen when he opens that door. If Harry sends him away, so be it. If Harry wants to keep him close, Louis is all for that. Because he’d like that. He’d like to get to know Harry properly and — 

Fuck. Yeah, okay, fine. 

Without knocking, breathing or making a sound, Louis pushes the door handle down and peeks into the dimly lit room. It looks just like his own: one free bed standing closer to the door, and one bed by the window. Harry is laying in the bed closer to the window and, as Louis has done most of the night, he is staring outside. Louis can see that he is awake; the lazy fluttering of his eyelashes give him away, plus the rise and fall of his chest is a bit too fast to be asleep, too. The curtains are drawn back and the blinds are up. Louis wonders if Harry shares his fear of being in complete darkness. 

Before the nurse can catch up to him now that he was brave enough to open the goddamn door, he slips fully inside and closes it behind himself softly. When he looks in Harry’s direction, a little yelp is sent to his chest as he finds the man already looking at him with half-shut eyelids and an unreadable expression coating his facial features. Alright then. Here goes nothing, Louis guesses, taking a careful step towards the bed. 

"Hi," Louis says, fidgeting with his shirt. His mum had brought it with her on her visit so he wouldn’t have to wear a hospital gown. 

"Hey." Harry’s voice is levels deeper than it usually is, and hoarse as if he’s got splinters sticking in his throat. "Shouldn’t you be in bed?"

Louis gives a slow one-shoulder shrug, reaching all the way to his ear before he lets it drop. "I couldn’t sleep."

"Me neither." A small lopsided smile spreads over his lips, and he lifts one hand in the air. 

It’s enough to unfreeze Louis from the spot and give him the needed push to make it all the way to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.

When he is close enough, Harry takes his hand in his own. 

Louis casts his glance down to their hands, keeping his eyes on Harry’s dry skin and tracing circles around his knuckles which are rosy and raw as if he has punched a wall. He can feel Harry’s gaze on him, intense even though Harry is tired, fragile, and looking smaller than he ever has in the hospital bed. It’s all wrong, so wrong, but also so right because a hospital bed is better than… than — 

Louis can’t even bring himself to finish his own thought, doesn’t want to. Because it didn’t happen. They are here and alive, perhaps hurting and recovering, but still. For a long moment it looked bad for the both of them but somehow, by a miracle, they have made it out of the forest and into the safety of society. That is what counts. Nothing else is important. 

Harry exhales loudly through his nose. "I can’t believe I’m still alive," he says, as if he has a direct line to Louis’ brain. "I was worried you didn’t make it. When I woke up I thought… and I wouldn’t even know, would I? I can’t even remember much and I…" his voice breaks and Louis’ whips his head up to look at him. His green eyes are red-rimmed and filled with thick drops of tears.

Louis’ heart breaks over and over again.

"Louis…" he whimpers, trying to sit up but too weak to do so. Harry is too weak to do something simple like sitting up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Louis sniffles wetly, his entire body screaming at him to comfort Harry, to do something that makes it go away, the pain, the misery that lingers in the air and vibrates in their bones. Everything, everything. Louis swallows thickly, edging closer to Harry so that Harry’s arm is lying on his lap. He takes his bicep and gives him a squeeze, cradling Harry’s cheek in his palm and wiping away the tears that have escaped his eyes. 

"I’m sorry, I’m a mess." Harry gives a sad smile, his lips wobbling and his breathing coming out in wet puffs. 

"You’re allowed to be a mess," Louis croaks. "I’m a mess, too." 

Louis has so much to say to Harry. He wants to apologise — for what, he isn’t really sure. Nothing is his fault, and nothing is Harry’s fault, but the urge sits like a pressure on his chest and if he doesn’t asy the words, he is going to fucking explode, that much he is aware of. He sniffs. 

"I’m sorry," he whispers, hating how his voice breaks at the end of the sentence and how his breath catches and how small and stupid and hurt he feels. "I’m so sorry," he repeats. 

"What for?"

"Just… in general." Louis makes a face and pushes a shaky hand through his hair. "I just..."

"I know," Harry murmurs. "I’m sorry too." 

They are both sorry for things that were out of their control. They are both stupid. 

"I hate this," Louis groans, letting his head hang and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I fucking hate feeling like this."

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, perhaps because there are no words that would ever take their pain from them. The only relief Louis feels right now is that nobody lied and Harry is well enough to talk and be awake, that they are breathing in the same air, and that their bodies are so close. 

Harry raises his hand, cupping Louis’ chin and directing his head up to catch his gaze. "Can you stay? Stay with me, please." 

Louis’ lets out a grand exhale. "Of course." He musters up enough strength to give Harry a smile. "Of course, I’ll stay." 

There is no place Louis would rather be than with Harry. It makes him feel comforted to look into those eyes and see those lips smile at him. He thinks he has never felt this safe with anyone else, excluding his family, of course. It kind of just happened, and so fast too. 

Louis stands up, helping Harry arrange the blanket. Harry makes space for him in the too-small bed, scooting to the edge and turning onto his side with a grimace. 

"Okay?" Louis asks as he sinks down to lay on his side too, facing Harry. 

"My side hurts so badly," Harry says. "I’ll live though."

Harry’s hand creeps carefully to the curve of Louis’ waist, his eyes asking silently for permission to do so. Louis entangles their ankles under the thin hospital blanket. The blanket smells musty and stale, but not bad enough to stop Louis from pulling it up to his chin. He inches closer to Harry until their noses are nearly bumping. 

"Can you make me a promise?" Louis whispers, carefully wrapping his fingers around Harry’s upper arm. 

"Anything," Harry says promptly.

"Please, no matter how shitty your roommate’s music is, don’t ever go camping again." 

Harry gurgles a strangled laugh, humourless and full of pain. "No, yeah. I guess that’s an easy promise."

"Never again," Louis says, smiling sadly. 

"Never again," Harry promises, nudging his nose against the tip of Louis’. 

There is a hand cupping Louis’ chin, guiding his face closer and closer until Louis is forced to shut his eyes before he goes cross-eyed. Then there are lips, gentle and dry on his, and a relieved sigh escapes his throat at the contact. 

The kiss is something they both needed - it’s close-lipped and rough because both of their lips are raw and shaky, but it settles the ball of worry in Louis’ stomach and lets a calmness creep into his bones that makes it easier to breathe. 

Safe. Safe. Safe. 

They part, but stay close, falling asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, wonderfully content. 

They wake up in the morning to scandalised gasps from a nurse who scolds that they are seriously injured and Louis should not go wandering off. But it’s fine, they are fine. 

They have survived, they are alive. 

But, no more camping trips for either of them. 

* * * 

_3 years later…_

Louis sighs, patting his back pocket for his keys. When he doesn’t find them, his fingers dig into his jacket pocket, after which he makes a little noise of triumph with his throat. He unlocks the door quickly and shuts it softly behind him, throwing his keychain in the handmade bowl in the hallway. Toeing off his shoes and peeling his arms out of his jacket, he already feels so much better. The stress of the day vanishes as he sucks in a deep breath, his mouth watering as a strong smell of baked goods weaves out of the kitchen and teases his taste buds. 

Louis follows the smell and steps into the small rectangular kitchen. The fridge is humming next to the doorway and the workshop lines up on the far wall. The soft spring sun beams through the window on the other end of the room, right above the sink where two plates are still left out from dinner last night. (Louis has been slacking off lately; he knows his mother would be very disappointed). The light of the oven is on and in the small space of the homey kitchen, the delicious scent of baked goods is stronger and even more mouth-watering. He can pick out the sweetness of sugar and the scent of cinnamon. He rubs his growling belly, bending and taking a look to find small muffins puffing up under the beam of hot light. 

If something is in the oven, Louis guesses that Harry can’t be too far off and slips through the other door into the living room. It’s messy; neither of them have mastered the art of cleaning up behind themselves. There are way too many blankets covering the couch, a stack of art magazines on the coffee table with a book placed on top. The telly is on, set to a music channel where Ed Sheeran is dancing with a petite woman to _Thinking Out Loud_. 

Louis smiles. The door to the back garden is wide open and as he pokes his head outside, he finds Harry sitting on the cushioned outdoor bench with a pencil behind his ear and a cuppa on the round table.

He is wearing an old band shirt, his short hair held back with a red bandana. He sketches on a large notebook, not noticing Louis right away. Louis takes a moment to watch him draw before his heart aches too much with the desire for attention from his favourite person in the whole wide world.

Softly, he clears his throat, prompting two intense green eyes upon him. Harry’s face is settled into a frown, looking like an angry kitten at being interrupted, but when he recognises it’s Louis (and, uh, who _else_ should it be, huh?), his expression lifts into gentle happiness. His green eyes sparkle, lips tugged upward into a lopsided smile. 

"Hey there, didn’t know you’d be coming home so early," Harry says, putting his notebook down and circling his wrist in the air, causing little cracks. Louis guesses he must have been drawing for a long period of time then. 

"Yeah," Louis sighs, scratching his neck. "Lottie rain-checked on me."

"Aw, that’s too bad," Harry says, frowning slightly at the news. "She okay?" 

"Oh, yeah. Just, you know, university." Louis wiggles his fingers in the air. "Suits me just fine, honestly."

Louis has been nursing a bit of a tension headache. Children can be quite loud and although he loves his job as a teacher to bits, it can be draining at times.

He slips over to Harry and straddles him on the bench in one swift movement. His headache decreases slowly as he breathes in the scent that his nose recognises as no other than Harry. It’s natural and herby although the scent of sugar and baking clings to his curls and his shirt. Louis inhales deeply as Harry’s arms wrap him in a tight hug. "We can’t all be working from home," Louis teases, withdrawing to get a better look at his better half. 

Harry grins up at him, dimples deepening when they lock eyes. "Well," he says with a shrug, "you’d crawl up the walls if you were stuck at home every day." 

"Suppose you’re right." Louis smiles and leans down, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth. 

They have been together ever since that scary near death experience in the woods three years ago. 

Once they were released from the hospital, one small problem came to Louis’ attention the moment he entered his mum’s house: they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. Up until then, there hadn’t been a reason to. Louis had nearly broken down as the realisation came crashing down on him.

However, thankfully, not everyone hates social media as much as Louis does and Harry did have indeed a Facebook account. 

They both texted nonstop back and forth, mostly complaining (jokingly) about overbearing parents and siblings. Then two short (or very long) weeks later, they met up for that promised drink and since then things have only gotten better for the both of them. 

A year after _The Horror Camping Trip,_ they found their own flat in the heart of Manchester. They were both working their way up to their dream jobs, and their group of friends interlaced perfectly fine. Nothing more stood in the way of their happiness and now here they are — together, happy, living in their own flat. Proper, reasonable adults they are (or, well, sometimes they are. Only if they want to make an effort, mostly in front of their parents). 

The only reminders of what had happened to them in the forest and cabin are the scars that just don’t want to heal and the nightmares that creep up on them in the dead of night. Harry had started stress-baking instead of sleeping and Louis started losing his appetite. Fortunately, now that is slowly normalising.

The court hearing wasn’t a pleasant experience, though, to look into the eyes of the man that had done so much damage to their souls and bodies. It was horrifying, that court hearing, but satisfying at the end since the man got twenty years in prison with no chance of parole.

However, and here is the thing, alright? The monster that haunts their nights with its red eyes and sharp teeth has never been found. The police believe whatever they thought they saw was something their overworked minds made up in the state of terror. Louis doesn’t believe that though, and neither does Harry. Their families withhold their thoughts on it, but Louis thinks that secretly they don’t buy into the idea either. Anyway, there is no point in proving them right or wrong because Harry and Louis shared that experience and know the full truth of the events that went down. They’ll never go back there again.

It took six months of trauma-therapy for them both to be fully okay again, to get over what had happened and to know that no monsters are coming for them when they sleep. Since completing intensive therapy, things only have gotten better, and that is the most important thing, innit? 

Things are so good, actually, that Louis bought a ring just last week with Lottie and Fizzy in tow. 

But they have time. They are in no rush, although Louis is now thirty and everyone jokes that he is getting old. He begs to differ because every time he looks at Harry, he feels like a bloody teenager with a crush. 

That giddy feeling takes over him now as Harry presses a kiss to his scar on his neck and then takes Louis’ chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding their lips together in an already open-mouthed kiss. 

"I love you," Louis says as they part for air. 

"Hm, you better," Harry says. "I baked your favourite muffins." 

Louis snorts, shaking his head. Harry gives him a cheeky grin that Louis has to kiss off his lips, so he does just that. 

"Love you too," Harry whispers. Louis unties the bandana from his head and brushes his fingers through the soft curls. 

They don’t even make it to the bedroom. Louis hopes his neighbours don’t take their tea outside today. 

*** * ***

_Meanwhile in the forest…_

"Do you know the legend?" the young man asks, swinging their clasped hands between them. "They say that there was a military base hidden in the forest where they did secret experiments on humans and animals, trying to manipulate their genes to make them stronger and more dangerous." 

"Come off of it," the woman gasps with a huge grin on her face, laughing the story easily away. "You’re so full of _shit_." 

The man shakes his head at her in faux-seriousness. "No, no, it’s all true." 

"And you thought a camping date in the forest would be a good idea?" 

"What? Are you scared?" The man grins, squeezing her hand, tugging her along the dirty road into the forest. 

"No, of course not!" She rolls her eyes. "Because it’s not _true_." 

"Oh, but I bet," he starts, going for nonchalance, "those two men that were attacked three years ago would beg to differ. I followed the news reports, you know? They claim that they were attacked by a monster with red eyes." He widens his eyes at her, clicking his tongue. 

The girl falters in her steps, eyeing her boyfriend with a blank expression. Then, her face splits into a grin, huge and unaffected. "You’re just trying to scare me." 

"It’s said that the monster was never found and still roams the forest."

"Stop it." 

"Okay," the man sighs, smiling at his girlfriend. "Do you really believe that I’d take you out here if I thought it was true?" 

"No."

"See?" He shrugs easily. "They were on a hell of a lot of drugs, I’d say." 

Their conversation and easy banter had claimed all of their attention, so much so that neither one spotted the old, rusted sign that states, _'Don’t Go In The Woods'_. They were both too enchanted by each other, too thrilled to spend a wonderful weekend at the lake they had read about online. 

They never made it home… 

_**The end.** _

*** * ***

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi again! thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> thank you [Serena](https://tempolarriefix.tumblr.com/) for betaing, ily x 
> 
> if you enjoyed this fic, comments and/or kudos are so very appreciated and welcome, I'd love to know your thoughts on it.
> 
> here is the [fic post](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/post/639944808029421568/dont-go-in-the-woods-by-guccikings) if you'd like to reblog! 
> 
> also, come say hi to me on [tumblr!!](https://harryeatsburger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> stay safe everyone xx


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